Armor
by MountainGoats
Summary: Partial Novelization of the Series: Commander Shepard has built a life around violence. It fashioned her into something dangerous and she has found the one profession that allows her to enjoy it safely. With no firm convictions and a laughable reputation for heroism, she somehow becomes the galaxy's best hope for survival. Tali x FemShep. Rated for Violence/Adult Themes.
1. Chapter 1: An Awful Mistake

Disclaimer: I own no part of Mass Effect or its storyline. Everything belongs to Bioware and whatnot.

**A/N: **So just to explain this new story: it is going to be a partial novelization of the series. The first four chapters are going to take place before the first game, but it won't take long to get to the meat of the story. I should warn that it will be faintly AU in that I'm disregarding parts of the canon timeline and have made significant alterations to the Colonist background. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1- An Awful Mistake

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xxXxx

_…_

_Hourglass Nebula. Ploitari System. The Rayya. Nearest Celestial Body: Thegan_

_2174 CE, Span of Arleeha, 41__st _

_GST: 21:33, Shipboard Evening Cycle._

…

As she lurked outside of her father's office, Tali'Zorah nar Rayya tried to think of a way to convince him that she had not, in spite of popular opinion, attempted to blow up a frigate.

It really was just a simple misunderstanding, and while she was certain that he would understand once she had a chance to explain, the fact that he'd summoned her to his office was making her nervous. It was an unprecedented request and she really did not know what to make of it. When dealing with an ordinary mistake on her part, her father usually waited until they were both in their cabin before launching in to one of his lectures. That kept things quiet, and he was very interested in preserving those types of privacy. Not even that unfortunate matter involving the hacked recycler unit had merited a trip to the Admiral's office, so Tali suspected that she had managed to truly upset him this time around.

She shifted from foot-to-foot and activated her omnitool in order to check the chronometer. A haptic interface materialized around her hand and forearm as a gauntlet composed entirely of orange light. The readout confirmed what she already knew: it was time for her to go inside. She really did not want to, but hiding in the hallway was hardly dignified and she knew better than to keep her father waiting. Lifting her omnitool, she waved it across the door's entry pad to transmit her ID codes. The lock whirled open a moment later, and she stepped inside as the door split in half and retracted into the floor and ceiling.

The office was sparsely furnished and oppressively clinical. Measuring about ten square meters in total, the compact room held only a workspace and three chairs. Her father sat behind an unadorned metal desk, typing furiously at the activated terminal that hovered a few inches above the brushed steel surface. Back when her mother was still alive, Tali could remember seeing a holophoto of their family next to the terminal. It was absent now, and aside from three dataslates, only a hermetically-sealed flask of _Recaffe _rested on his workspace. Her father drank that often, using the stimulant as a substitute for too many hours of missed sleep. If there was one luxury in the room it was the small observation port that was set into the far wall. Having a private cabin was an extraordinary thing in the Flotilla, but having one with a view of the stars was all but unique.

Rael'Zorah did not look up as she entered, not even when the doors slid closed with a pneumatic hiss. A single look told Tali that he was tired. Though every inch of his skin was concealed by an environmental suit and helmet, there was an unmistakable slouch to his posture that he would not tolerate were they in public. His suit was a skintight assortment of leather, rubberized composite, and durafiber weave that was broken up by section seals and reinforced segments where necessary. An adult quarian was entitled to customize his or her suit, and Rael had chosen to have his fashioned in an off-shade of white complimented by red accents. The faintly conical shape of his helmet was typical of all quarians, and he wore his suit wrappings in the reserved, masculine style that ended just before the crown of his head.

Tali stood near the doorway feeling awkward from the lack of acknowledgement. The only sound in the room was the muted clicking of her father's fingers against the terminal interface. After a painful stretch of this silent torture, Rael paused just long enough to point at one of the chairs that sat in front of his desk. Never once did he look in her direction.

She swallowed and walked over to sit down in the appointed chair. It was made for someone taller, so her legs dangled a few inches off the pristine deck. Trying not to make things any worse for herself, she folded her hands in her lap and stared down at them as she waited for her father to finish.

It did not take long for her nerves to get the better of her. On their own accord, her hands began to compulsively smooth the fabric of her suit where it had bunched at her hips and thighs. Like all childhood suits, hers had some extra room to accommodate a growing adolescent. Patches along her ribs, waist, and the inside of her legs were all designed to stretch without requiring a complete refitting. Until a quarian child was ready to accept his or her immuno implants, removing the suit was a risk better avoided. Clean rooms could always be contaminated even when all precautions were taken. Tali had not removed her suit in three years, and barring an explosive growth spurt, would probably go another two before she needed a replacement.

At long last, her father finished whatever he was working on and dismissed the terminal with a gesture. Rael turned in his seat so that he was facing her directly and leaned forward to rest his hands on the desk. The white headlamp positioned at the front of his helmet's filter vacillated evenly as he breathed in and out. Much of his face was concealed by the green glass of his visor. She could only just make out the vague silhouette of his features and the bright points of his eyes that winked at her like individual stars amid a galactic cloud. Tali tried to meet his gaze, but lacked the courage to hold it for even a moment. This was the worst part of his lectures. She almost wanted to blurt out a confession just to bring an end to the silence that was stretched between them.

"Would you please explain yourself?"

Tali jumped in her seat at the sudden question. Her carefully thought-out explanation fled from her mind and she blurted out a response. "I didn't try to blow up _The Caelrich_."

"That is a relief." Her father's tone was flat and calm. Never once could she remember him raising his voice to her, but Tali would have preferred anger to the cold disappointment that lurked beneath his composure. "However, it is not an explanation. I want to know what you were thinking, Tali."

"I…I was trying to help." She stumbled over her words before reminding herself that she could handle this. If there was one thing she was confident about, it was shipboard mechanics. "While I was performing the routine assessments, I noticed that _The Caelrich's_ drive core was bleeding energy every time the pilot diverted power away from the propulsion systems. I think it is a design flaw in the model, but it can be fixed by redirecting the way that the power arrives at the engines. The modification doesn't require any major hardware switches, and it helps manage the EEZO core's fluctuations without running the risk of overloading the system. My guess is that we can save up to 3% of the drive's total output depending on how the frigate is used."

She hesitated and glanced up to gauge his reaction. Tali knew that she was in trouble, but she had also discovered something that could truly benefit the Flotilla. Father was always telling her that every quarian must contribute to the survival of their people, and this was the first tangible thing that Tali could give back. Surely, he must be interested in what she had done?

Her father prompted her with a wave of his hand. "Go on."

"After I discovered this, I brought it to Mal'Raneer. He told me that he was not interested in the theories of children and ordered me to return to my assigned duties."

"Did you follow that order?"

Aware that they were about to reach the heart of the issue, Tali sat forward in her chair. "Father, Mal'Raneer is an idiot."

"_Flight Instructor_ Raneer is a fifteen-year veteran of the Flotilla's Navy." Rael stressed the title with only the slightest inflection. "He was also the highest ranking officer on _The Caelrich_. Meaning, as you are well-aware, that his order was effectively that of the ship's captain."

"I know what I did was wrong, but I didn't think anyone would notice!" Tali immediately waved her hands in a panicked fluster as she realized how bad that sounded and hurried to cover the mistake. "What I meant is that I was not expecting the power surge. I had no idea that my modification was going to reset the entire electrical system."

Her father's mask dipped down as he lowered his chin. It was a rare shift in posture that took Tali by surprise. Rael'Zorah normally disdained the subtle body language that quarians used to indicate their mood, but right now, he was very clearly conveying his displeasure. "Inadvertent or not, you disabled the _Caelrich_."

"Only for a minute." Tali wrung her hands furiously together as she looked down at the whorled surface of her father's desk. "Nothing was damaged. It was just a reset."

Her father stood from his chair and walked over to the observation port with carefully measured steps. If she did not know him so well, Tali might have said he looked composed, but his fingers were trembling and there was a noticeably stiff set to his shoulders. He was more than disappointed, he was angry. "Tali, what is the approximate mass of a C-27 Frigate?"

The question was so unexpected that she almost asked him to repeat it. She had been ready for a lecture, not an impromptu quiz. "It's…uh, it's a little over 2,000 tonnes?"

Her father nodded. "And do you know what speed_ The Caelrich _was maintaining when the electrical systems failed?"

"No," Tali stared at his back in confusion. "I don't."

"It was accelerating at 32 meters per second." Rael turned his head to look at her. "Two of the pilots were practicing their docking approaches. I'm going to assume that you are similarly unaware that seven ships of the flotilla were within 20 SSL's of the _Caelrich_ at the time of the engine failure."

Tali's felt a hollow sensation settle in the pit of her stomach. "Father, I—"

"I'm not finished, Tali." Her father turned around to face her fully. His voice had taken on a sharp edge that made Tali want to shrink back into her seat. "I think it is important to note that _The Rayya_ was one of those ships and that its EEZO core was idling. I'm sure you know that an average liveship takes one-sixteenth of a rotation to go from an idle state to a ready one. Had _The Caelrich's _course intersected with that of the _The Rayya_, there would have been no way for either ship to avoid collision or even activate shielding. So please tell me, Tali: what happens when a 2,000 tonne starship accelerating at 32 meters per second collides with something?"

Though he asked it directly, Tali knew the question was rhetorical. Her face was burning and a sharp, prickling sensation seemed to be running through her veins as she stared mutely at her father. Swallowing thickly around the tangled knot in her throat, she said the only thing she could. "I'm sorry."

"You were lucky." Her father walked back to his desk and sank down heavily in the chair. "Had there been any chance of collision, the standing order would be for our navy to remove the crippled vessel before it could damage another part of the fleet. Everyone on _The Caelrich_, yourself included, could have been killed because you needed to prove you were smarter than a flight instructor."

There was nothing Tali could say to that. She simply sat there, hands clenched so tightly together that one of her knuckles popped. Her eyes stung with the promise of oncoming tears, but she pushed back the urge to cry as she hunched forward and stared down at the floor. She had never even considered any of those things. A sickening wave of guilt stole over her and she suddenly wished that her father could have waited to have this conversation in their cabin. They might be alone right now, but she longed for the privacy that could only be found at home. At least then she would know if she was being disciplined by her father or by Admiral Zorah.

Once it had become clear that she would not respond, her father broke the silence with a tired sigh. "I am partially responsible for this. I made the mistake of assuming that an 11-year-old was ready for practical assignments. No one will doubt that you are incredibly talented Tali, but clearly you were not ready for the responsibility. Unless I give express permission, you are not to leave _The Rayya _for a cycle."

Tali rocked back in her chair, utterly stunned by the punishment. An entire cycle? She had been expecting to be grounded for a few spans, but never for a galactic cycle. She would be almost thirteen by the time she was able to leave the liveship. However, in the wake of her father's words, she could not find it in her to protest. "I…I understand, Father."

He visibly hesitated before speaking. "Good. You can return to our cabin. Your aunt dropped off dinner and you should eat without me. I won't be back for a few rotations."

Tali nodded miserably and hoisted herself off the chair. This had been much worse than she had expected, so any excuse to crawl off and hide in her bunk was greatly appreciated. Keeping her shoulders hunched, she turned and made for the door of the cabin.

"Tali."

She paused in the doorway. "Yes?"

"Everything we do has a consequence." Rael'Zorah tilted his head to the side in a gesture that stopped just sort of expressing sympathy. "Our people's future is at constant risk, and like it or not, you are the daughter of an Admiral and certain things are expected of you. We have to set an example, and when we act selfishly, we do so at the expense of everyone in this Fleet. Keep that in mind and let this be the last time we have this conversation."

Tali bowed her head. "Yes, father."

"I'll see you tonight, Tali."

She left his office without any further comment. In her blind haste to put some distance between herself and that conversation, she almost slammed headlong into someone waiting just outside of the doorway. Stepping back hastily even as the door closed behind her, Tali stammered out a rushed apology. "Oh! Sorry, I wasn't watching—"

She trailed off abruptly as she raised her head and found herself looking up at Captain Daro'Xen. As the youngest captain ever appointed in the Quarian Navy, Daro'Xen enjoyed a kind of celebrity. Her suit was an elegant affair of black and grey fabric that fit her very well, and the deep hood of her suit wrappings was embroidered with small patterns stitched from silver thread. Before becoming a captain, Daro'Xen had written seven papers that focused on personal shielding and the combat applications of cyber warfare. Tali had read them all and was of the personal opinion that Captain Xen was the smartest woman in the Flotilla. To think that she had almost slammed into her was embarrassing to say the least.

Daro'Xen gave no indication of being offended. She was looking down at Tali with a friendly tilt to her head. "Hello, Tali. Speaking with your father I take it?"

"Y-Yes, yes I was." Tali blushed hotly and privately thanked her ancestors that her visor hid it from view. "We were discussing….the uh, _The Caelrich_."

"Oh yes, I heard about that. It's been a rather popular subject lately." Xen's words brought back that horrible guilt she had felt in her father's office, but at the same time, the older woman's voice was warm and touched with a hint of amusement. "I hope your father wasn't too upset."

Tali clenched her hands into fists in order to prevent herself from rubbing them together. "No, he wasn't. I'm confined to _The Rayya_ for the next cycle, but he explained why what I did was wrong."

"A _galactic_ cycle?"

"Yes."

Captain Xen's shoulders twitched in surprise. After an awkward moment of quiet, she reached out and lightly clasped Tali's upper arm. "Ah…well, bear in mind that we all make mistakes. I found more than my share of trouble when I was your age. All that matters is that we learn from those missteps."

Tali blushed even more fiercely than before. "Yes, of course. Thank you, Captain."

"Don't worry, Tali, give it a span and no one will even remember this. Quarians love to have something to talk about, but we have short attention spans. " Xen withdrew her hand and laughed softly. "Now, I don't mean to be rude, but I fear that I have an appointment with your father to discuss fuel rationing."

"Yes, I'm sure. Fuel rationing is so important to the Fleet." Tali had no idea why she said that, but she had said it. Trying to leave without embarrassing herself further, she dipped her head deferentially and started making for the lift down the corridor. "It was a pleasure to speak with you, Captain."

Xen lifted a hand to stop her. "Before you go, did you hear that several captains in the Patrol Fleet have reviewed the modification you made to _The Caelrich_? I'm told they are considering the benefits of implementing your findings on their own vessels."

"Truly?" Tali froze in place, unsure of how to respond. "Even with what happened?"

"I think most of them are willing to overlook that in light of the fact that you found a cheap and convenient way to reduce energy expenditure. It was good work on your part, Tali." Xen folded her arms and tilted her head to the left. Behind her visor, her eyes glimmered with laughter. "Incidentally, I hear that Flight Instructor Raneer is rather peeved about the entire ordeal. My guess is that it won't be long before he withdraws his ridiculous claim that you attempted sabotage."

It took a moment, but eventually, Tali realized that a smile had spread across her face. "Thank you for telling me, Captain."

"Think nothing of it, Tali."

Daro'Xen gave her a short salute and then walked over to activate the door control for her father's office. Tali watched as she disappeared inside before starting toward the lift that would take her back down to the dormitory levels. It did not take long for her to remember the heavy weight of her father's disapproval, but for a few blissful moments, all she felt was a pleasant glow of satisfaction and the memory of Xen's hand on her arm.

…

xxXxx

…

_Alpha Demeter Sector. Eidolon System, Eidolon-5_

_2174 CE, October 13__th_

_GST: 18:13 _

….

By the time she reached Rodriguez's hab, Shepard was exhausted and dangerously lightheaded from hyperventilation.

She half-crashed, half-slumped against his door, hammering her fist against it with as much force as she could muster. The oppressive howl of the storm drowned out the sound of her knocking and she prayed that he was home and not in town. Finding his hab in the middle of a dust storm had been a near-impossibility even though the main road led directly to his doorstep. There was no way she would make it all the way into town without getting turned around or else smothered by the sheer volume of dust that hung thick in the air. A sandstorm on Eidolon-5 was like being lost in a blinding maelstrom that rendered the senses useless. Individual particles of dust stung as they bit at her flesh and clogged her airways in spite of the scarf she wore wrapped around her nose and mouth. She could hear nothing save the endless shriek of the wind, and on the rare occasion she risked opening her eyes, a wall of impenetrable crimson was all that greeted her. Sucking hard for breath, she slapped her hand against the door one final time and let it rest there as she fought to keep standing.

Then, her support abruptly vanished and Shepard tumbled forwards through the now open doorway. A male voice cursed loudly as a wall of dust and noise poured in along with her, and then hands were grabbing at her shoulders to drag her further indoors. The terrible voice of the storm faded marginally as Rodriguez wrestled his door closed, but Shepard hardly noticed in her haste to tear off the layers of cloth that covered her face. The scarf had kept her from choking to death, but it had also made every breath she took an effort. Her gasp of relief quickly became a hacking cough as her lungs buckled under the unlabored rush of oxygen.

"Shepard!" Rodriguez's growling bark of a voice sounded especially loud and she looked up to see him marching toward her with a scowl on his weathered features. He may have gotten the door closed, but the air in the room was still soupy with a haze of blood-red dust. It was going to cause a terrible mess once it settled, but Rodriguez was angry for a different reason. "Just what in the colorful hell were you doing out in….."

He came up short once he had gotten a good look at her face. As if it had never been there, his frown immediately softened into an expression of calm concern. He always gave her that look when he saw her like this. Shepard usually chafed under the implicit sympathy, but today was different and she grinned breathlessly up at him as though nothing was amiss. "Hey, Rodriguez, sorry about the mess."

"No harm done." He averted his eyes and walked over to the wall panel to activate the hab's ventilation system. The filters would take most of the dust out of the air, but it wouldn't do much for the thin layer that was currently forming over his floor and furniture. Shepard glanced around at the mess and felt a prickle of shame. Keeping a hab clean of the dust was a constant chore on Eidolon-5, and she felt bad about making it harder for Rodriguez. He barely seemed to give a second thought as he walked back to offer her a hand up. "Now, with that being said, there's no way this place is going to get clean with you looking like a sandcastle. Bathroom is in the back. I'll find you something else to wear."

Shepard took the offered hand, and with his help, managed to stand without too much difficulty. Her body felt like she'd been run over by a universal harvester, prompting her to casually lean a hand against the back of his couch in order to keep herself from toppling over. She steadied herself and then nodded appreciatively. "I'll try not to use much water."

Given the rationing, offering to let her wash up was no small thing. He lived alone, so his allotment would be tiny. Rodriguez just waved her concerns off. "Don't worry about it. My recycler works better than most. Use what you need."

She acknowledged this with a grateful smile before heading to the bathroom. Although she had never been inside his hab before, she had not needed him to tell her where it was. Habs were Alliance-issued accommodations for first-in colonists. They were ugly bricks of grey metal that had been designed with cost and durability in mind. Rodriguez had the standard model: a three-room variant composed of a living area, a bedroom, and a bathroom that could be more accurately described as a closet with plumbing. Still, it was a welcome sight as Shepard stepped into the cramped space and closed the door behind her.

As soon as she was alone, she braced herself against the sink and took several shaky breaths. There had been no report of dangerous conditions when she left the house this morning, but everyone on the planet knew better than to trust the weather feeds. Things could change quickly on Eidolon-5, and though she'd started running as soon as the winds had picked up, making it here had never been a sure thing.

When her heartbeat finally slowed to a normal rate, Shepard lifted a hand to palm the wall panel and a single overhead illuminator bathed the room in chilly florescent light. Her reflection stared back at her from the depths of the tiny mirror set above the sink. Twenty minutes in the middle of a dust storm had not been kind to her appearance. The iron-rich dust of Eidolon-5 could be as coarse as sand or as fine as confectioner's sugar. A layer of the reddish grit covered her hair and exposed skin like a chalky mask. Even the parts of her face that had been protected by her scarf were stained a dull crimson. Against the dirty backdrop, her eyes stood out even more than usual. They were a cold, pale shade of green that Shepard had once heard described as "arresting", which was a polite way of saying unsettling. It did not offend her, they were her father's eyes and she knew the feeling.

Shepard frowned and dropped her gaze from the mirror. She shrugged off her grandfather's flight jacket, the tough leather had held up against the dust and larger grit without showing too many signs of wear. Her denim pants were in worse shape, but most of that damage had come from working on the farm rather than the storm. Shepard peeled them off before adding her shirt to the pile of clothes at her feet. She felt somewhat uncomfortable about being in Rodriguez's bathroom in nothing but her underwear, but she got over it and started to clean up. Not wanting to ruin one of the meticulously folded washcloths by the sink, she took the battered scarf that had saved her life and wet it underneath the tap.

She was forced to rewet the cloth three times before she'd finally washed the dirt from her face and hands. After a brief deliberation, she unwound her hair from its tight braid and set about cleaning it as best she could. Her success was limited, but she got the worst off and that made her feel more like a human.

By the time she was finished, she'd unearthed an actual person. Her features were handsome rather than pretty, a heart-shaped face punctuated by high cheekbones and a defined jawline. Her lily-white skin had a sickly cast in the florescent lighting, and now that the dirt was gone, the bruises on her cheek and at the corner of her mouth stood out like pools of dark water. They were still tender, the one of her cheek had a sizeable cut in center, but she did not mind them as much as she did her split lower lip. That hurt every time she moved her mouth and she could not stop worrying at it with her tongue as though under a compulsion.

A knock sounded at the door. "Shepard?"

She paused and abruptly remembered that she was standing in someone else's bathroom. "Yeah?"

"There's a change of clothes out here and a bag. Toss your dirty outfit in there and we'll figure out what to do with it once the storm dies out."

She waited until she heard his footsteps lead away from the bathroom before opening the door just long enough to snatch the things that Rodriguez had left her. It was nothing fancy, just one of the countless sets of Alliance fatigues that he apparently owned. She'd never seen him wear anything else and had a sneaking suspicion that was due to personal choice rather than regulation.

It did come as a great surprise to find that the clothes fit rather well. Rodriguez was only a few inches taller than her, and thanks to her chores around the farm, she was lean and broad-shouldered. The shirt hung off her frame a bit loosely and she could have really used a belt, but overall, it worked.

She stuffed her dusty clothes in the plastic bag provided, but replaced her jacket over the fatigues as she stepped out of the bathroom and back into the living area. In the few minutes she had been gone, Rodriguez somehow managed to clean up the dust she'd tracked in. Her eyes darted around the hab and took in the details with no small amount of interest. This was only the second time she had been to his apartment, and she had not even stepped past the doorway on the first occasion. What stood out to her was that Rodriguez was freakishly neat; there wasn't so much as a single bit of clutter on the coffee table or on the sofa. There were few personal items either. An inactive terminal sat in one corner of the room and a high-end vid screen took up the entire west wall, but there were no decorations or holopics to be found. Even if she had not known him personally, Shepard would have guessed that Rodriguez was a bachelor. The entire room just felt a bit lonely.

He was waiting for her in the attached kitchen. He stood by the sink, a tall and wiry man with black hair that was starting to turn grey. His skin was as dark and tough as treated leather and on the rare occasions that he smiled, his white teeth always stood in wonderful contrast. No one would ever call him handsome, but his plain, honest features were appealing. Shepard liked his eyes the best. They were black and always conveyed a sense of kind intelligence that she envied. Everything else about Rodriguez from his haircut to his polished shoes screamed military, but his eyes could have belonged to a softer man.

He was the Alliance liaison for the town of New Swansea, and as of three years ago, the only history teacher in the Swansea School System. It was volunteer work, but he was still the best instructor that Shepard had ever had. Enthusiastic, interesting to listen to, and when the mood struck him, very witty.

Feeling sheepish in her borrowed clothes, she walked over to join him, Rodriguez nudged one of the two chairs away from the kitchen table with his shoe. "Take a seat. You thirsty?"

Her throat felt like she had been gargling sawdust. "Parched."

"All I have is beer and water, so…" Rodriguez plucked a bottle off the countertop and tossed it to her. "Water it is."

She caught it as she fell into the chair. Unscrewing the seal, she drained half of it and then saluted him with the bottle. "Thanks."

Rodriguez grunted an acknowledgement before moving to take the other chair. He sat a small medkit down on the table and unfurled it to remove a small bottle of alcohol and a package of butterfly bandages. It was clear what he meant to do and Shepard should have seen it coming, but when he lifted a hand toward her face, she jerked back out of reflex. Rodriguez dropped his arm back to the table and an awkward silence fell as they stared at one another. Clearing her throat, Shepard tried to push past the weird moment. "Um, sorry."

"No, I should have…" He paused and seemed to search for the correct thing to say before visibly giving up. "Well, it would be best if we got that cut cleaned up."

She nodded and leaned forward. "Alright."

Rodriguez wet a cotton swab with some of alcohol and raised it up to her cheek. She winced at the sharp sting of the disinfectant, but kept still and let him work. His big, rough hands were surprisingly gentle when he applied one of the narrow adhesive strips over the cut. As he pulled away, he started asking questions. "Mind telling me what the hell you were doing out in a dust storm?"

"It wasn't storming when I left the house."

"That doesn't mean much in autumn. You know better."

"I wasn't thinking straight." Shepard murmured softly. "And my house wasn't a particularly safe place at the time."

He accepted that with nod. "So I see. Is there any point in me asking what happened or are you just going to tell me that you ran into a door?"

Shepard smirked at him, the cut on her lip throbbing as the flesh pulled taut. She could not remember when she had fed him that particular line of bullshit, but it hadn't been one of her best. "Nothing so scary. Dad just started the day off early and breakfast got out of hand. I needed to leave."

Rodriguez paused in the act of fishing a second strip out of the package. His eyes flicked up to hers and Shepard could see that she had surprised him. It was the first time she'd ever admitted to what went on at home, and it looked as though Rodriguez had grown used to the excuses. Slowly, as though not to startle her, he returned to his work. "You ready for me to do something about that?"

"Nah, it doesn't work out when people try."

"Kid, I could—"

"I appreciate it," Shepard cut him off so he wouldn't waste his breath. "But trust me when I say that you aren't the first teacher who's offered. I know how that goes."

And she did know. Her father was a popular man who volunteered as a referee for the high school Thrashball team and drank with the sheriff every other night. It took repeated complaints from her sixth grade teacher before anyone even made an effort. That first time the local police had shown up at her family's hab, Shepard remembering being hopeful. She remembered telling the truth to one of the deputies and then watching as her father joked with the same man a few minutes later. She remembered listening as her mother agreed that yes, sometimes our daughter does make up stories, and of course, she remembered what happened after the officers had left.

It wasn't the last time someone tried to help, but it was the last time she ever asked for it.

Rodriguez pursed his lips. "I may not have much jurisdiction on an established colony, but the sheriff will find it harder to ignore an Alliance representative than a principle. All I need is a formal complaint from a victim to intervene on behalf of a private citizen."

"Not interested."

A flicker of frustration passed over his face before he could lock it down. Taking a deep breath, he leaned in and folded his hands on the tabletop. "Look, I doubt I would be very trusting if I were in your position, but I promise that I can help you."

"I know." She nodded agreeably. "You can help me get into the Alliance."

He did not immediately respond to that. Instead, he gave her a perfectly level stare that gave no indication that her request had surprised him. Shepard began to trace little designs on the tabletop with one finger just to give herself something to do. After several long moments, he finally grunted out a response. "Minimum age is eighteen."

"So?"

"So, you're about two years shy."

"C'mon, Rodriguez, you've given me more recruitment brochures than the rest of the school combined." She gave him a tight smile that he did not return. "And I seriously doubt that you go around offering to teach everyone Alliance CQC. You're pushing me toward the military."

He shrugged. "That doesn't mean I want you to run away from home. Part of my job is to distribute recruitment materials and I just thought you could benefit from some self-defense instruction."

"I did benefit. That's part of the reason I can't go back home."

"Meaning what?"

In answer, she twisted her hand around to show him her knuckles. Two of them were skinned raw and swollen. "I told him what was gonna happen if he didn't back off. Not my fault he wouldn't listen."

A very grim smile carved its way on Rodriguez's face as he motioned her to extend her injured hand. Shepard held it out and felt a rush of warmth blossom in her chest when he took it in both of his and began to examine the damage. "I seem to remember telling you not to punch someone in the face for precisely this reason."

"Yeah, but would you believe that it was worth it?"

"I might at that." Rodriguez glanced up at her and his expression became serious. "Is he hurt bad?"

"His old ass was still on the floor when I walked out, but a broken nose is the worst of it" She closed her eyes and smiled at the thought. It was going to be a memory she cherished for some time. When she had walked out of the house this morning, she felt like she just gotten off the world's fastest roller coaster. That sensation of dizzying excitement and triumph was the best she had ever felt.

A surprised exclamation left her lips as Rodriguez pressed another alcohol-soaked cotton swab on her skinned knuckles. He pointedly ignored her accusing look as he drew out a length of gauze from the medkit and started wrapping it around her hand. Shepard rolled her eyes but found herself watching him with a curious sense of longing. He was a good man, his fingers warm as they brushed over her palm, and that slight contact sent a shiver along her spine. She glanced away as he finished, worried that he might catch her looking. Rodriguez secured the bandage with a metal clip and released her hand. "Alright, why today?"

"Huh?"

"We've been working on the CQC for four months now, and after two weeks, you already knew enough to drop most people. So, what made today special?"

Shepard toyed with the water bottle before lifting it to take a sip. "Gwen is going to the academy."

"No kidding?" Rodriguez sounded genuinely pleased by the news. "Your father signed the waiver?"

"Hell no. I got him drunk last night and Mom signed the damn thing. It might've come about ten years too late, but she finally grew a backbone." The plastic bottle crinkled as her hand tightened around it and Shepard forced herself to ease up on her grip. "Anyway, Gwen was on the shuttle to Central before he even woke up. She'll be breaking atmo in a couple hours."

"That's great."

"Yeah."

She drained the rest of the water and set the empty bottle aside. Rodriguez was staring at her with the same expression he wore after posing a tough question his class. After a moment of quiet, he folded his arms across his chest and settled back into his chair. "The Alliance isn't easy. Once you sign that contract, there won't be any turning back. They need recruits and they don't let go of the ones they have."

"I can handle that."

"It's six months of Basic and then an additional two of shipboard acclimation. Standard contract is for five years of service at minimum." Rodriguez continued as if she hadn't spoken. "A lot of people find that has a way of turning into a lifelong career. Depending on where you end up, that could be a very dangerous career."

Shepard snorted. "What's my alternative? Staying here with the same people I've known my entire life? Anything is better."

"Don't be so quick to say that. Give it some thought. You're in rough situation, but you've still leaving a lot behind." He paused as the storm battered against the windows loud enough to interfere with the conversation. Once it had died down to a reasonable roar, he continued. "You got a brother, right? Aaron?"

"Adam." Shepard's jaw clenched tight around the name. Hostility flared in her mind and she spat out her thoughts on the subject. "Fuck 'im."

Rodriguez's only response was a swift furrow of his brow that vanished after only a few beats. Shepard half-expected him to ask about her mother, but it looked as though he was thinking better of it. "Alright, let me be blunt. I like you and I really do want to help, but I'm worried that you're jumping into something for the wrong reasons. I don't want this to be a moment you spend the rest of your life regretting."

Shepard felt her stomach twist unpleasantly. She wasn't good at asking for help; didn't really know how when it came down to it. The sudden, paralyzing fear that he might say "no" made the skin of her face tingle. Anxious, she fought to keep her voice steady. "Look, Rodriguez, I'm pretty desperate over here. I've dealt with everything so far, but I'm not up for it anymore. I came here because I didn't know where else to go, but if you don't help, then I'm going to find another way. The one thing I know for certain is that I am never going back to that house. Not for any reason."

Getting that out into the open cost her. Ashamed for reasons she could not even begin to describe, she averted her eyes and waited for something to happen. The kitchen was silent for entirely too long before Rodriguez cleared his throat. "You can stay here tonight. It's late and there's no telling how long that storm will last. Tomorrow, we'll head over to Central and get you processed. Come nightfall, you'll be in the Alliance."

Shepard turned back to find Rodriguez watching her with a sad sort of smile. Her shoulders dipped inwards as relief ate away at the tension that had kept her going thus far. She was so incredibly tired, and before she could stop it, a harsh breath that was almost a sob rattled out of her chest. There was no way she would cry in front of someone else, so Shepard bit down on her lip and brought up a hand to lightly clasp her forehead as she waited for the feeling to pass.

Rodriguez's chair squeaked as he pushed it back from the table, and a moment later, a hand settled on Shepard's back as a comfortable weight. Composing herself, she looked up at him. "Thanks. I mean it, thanks."

"Don't mention it. You eaten today?"

"Not since breakfast."

"C'mon then, I'll get you dinner. I'm a terrible cook, so unless you want to get behind the stove, don't set your expectations high."

Shepard smiled and rose to help him with the food. They did not revisit their conversation as they worked, instead preferring to settle on the more comfortable topics of action vids and the novel she was reading. True to his word, Rodriguez was not much of a cook. Their meal consisted of protein noodles and steamed ipicius. Considering everything else that had happened today, she didn't really care one way or the other. Besides, it was oddly comfortable to prepare a meal with him. There was none of the tension that was pervasive whenever she was at her own house.

By the time they had finished and put away the dishes, Shepard was completely worn out and liable to fall asleep on her feet. He must have noticed, because he led her out into the living area and pointed toward the bedroom. "We might as well turn in. You get the bed and I'll take the couch. I guess you already know where the head is, and you are welcome to anything here. Just don't open the bedside table's drawer. There's a handgun in there."

Shepard nodded, but then frowned as a thought occurred to her. "Hey, you aren't going to get in trouble for helping me, right? It is a bit illegal."

"Don't worry about that. Believe it or not, there have been other kids in your circumstances. The Alliance has ways of working around the legal requirements of recruitment." Rodriguez paused, and then shot her one of his rare smiles. "Plus, I got a friend over at Central who doesn't mind muddling a birth certificate for the right cause. For all intents and purposes, you'll be eighteen by the time you leave the planet."

"I really do owe you one."

"I said don't worry about it. Now, get some sleep."

He turned away, but Shepard reached out a hand to stop him. A crazy impulse had seized her, and without giving it proper thought, she said something she shouldn't have. "You don't have to."

"Sorry?"

"Take the couch." She dipped her head and stared at him through the curtain of her hair. "We can share. The bed, I mean."

The living room was too dark for her to make out Rodriguez's expression, but based on how still his body went, she guessed that her meaning had come across clearly. A mixture of nervous anticipation and excitement filled her as she waited for him to react. Each second stretched into a minute as Rodriguez turned back to face her. He drew himself up and then shook his head. "No, kid, we really can't."

"Oh." Shepard felt as though the bottom had dropped out of her stomach. Mortified, she nodded quickly and stammered out an apology. "Oh god, sorry. I…uh, I don't why I said that. Look, just forget it. I didn't mean—"

"Okay, it's alright. Don't lose your head." Rodriguez surprised her by resting his hands on her shoulders. He then gave her a little shake as if to get her attention. "Listen: I think today has been pretty rough on you and you're a little turned around right now. I don't blame you, but that's something that just can't happen, okay?"

Shepard would have cheerfully died in that moment. She looked everywhere but at Rodriguez as she struggled to respond. "Right. Sorry."

"It isn't what you want. Whatever you might think right now, I promise you that."

"Right."

"Okay. I'll see you in the morning, yeah?"

He released her and stepped back. Shepard muttered another apology and practically fled into his bedroom. Once she had put the door between them, she slumped down on the edge of the bed and buried her head in her hands. Tugging at her hair until it hurt, she groaned under her breath and silently cursed herself for being so goddamn stupid. Why in the hell had she said that? She might have entertained a few dumb fantasies about Rodriguez in the past, but she'd dismissed them as just that. It was never something she would act on.

Miserable, she flopped back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. The dust storm thumped against the polarized glass of the bedroom window, but the noise didn't do much to drown out her internal monologue. She had one friend on this entire planet and she might have just messed things up between them. She didn't even want to guess what Rodriguez must be thinking right now.

The thought was too humiliating to entertain. Turning on her side, she stared off into the darkness of the room and waited for exhaustion to work its magic. It had been such a good day up until this point. Sure, getting caught in a dust storm was a bad time, but Gwen was safe and now she was free as well. After so many nights spent lying awake and picturing this exact moment, it felt strange and a bit underwhelming to be experiencing it. What surprised her was the lack of doubt. She was excited, nervous, and even a touch afraid, but there was not a shred of uncertainty in her mind.

If she were to guess, it would be because there was nothing for her on Eidolon-5 except a life she did not want and a family she would rather not have. There was no telling what the rest of the galaxy was like, but anything that large had to have something better in it. At the very least, it should be more interesting.

Shepard took a deep breath and noted that the pillow had a masculine smell. Sighing deeply, she closed her eyes in complete and utter despair. How could she have possibly said that to Rodriguez? Even if she lived as long as an asari, she had a feeling that she would never, ever forget that particular embarrassment. But rather than let the wound fester, she tried to focus on what lay ahead. Come tomorrow, she would be able to put several thousand light years between her and any painful memories. She would not spend the rest of her life farming ipicus and waiting for her liver to give out. No, she was going to be a soldier, and even if that was not an easy life, at least it would save her from becoming as lost and hopeless as her mother.

A smile crossed her lips even as her overtaxed brain finally began to shut down. Whatever else happened, she promised herself that things would be better from here on out.

After all, how could they get worse?

...

xxXxx

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A/N: Next chapter will be out in a week. If you enjoyed reading, please consider leaving a review!


	2. Chapter 2: The Real Thing

A/N: The Shepard segment for this chapter would have been way too long for one chapter, so I'm breaking it into two parts. The second part will be out next week. Thank you to my beta Gorg for being very helpful.

Chapter 2: The Real Thing

~0~

* * *

…

xxXxx

…

_Armstrong Nebula. Vamshi System. The Rayya. Nearest Celestial Body: Almos_

_2178 CE, Span of Qual'Quix, 25th_

_GST: 18:17, Shipboard Evening Cycle._

_..._

Quarians did not waste space.

They had no choice in the matter, not when the average vessel in the Migrant Fleet had several thousand more occupants than it was designed to carry. Necessity dictated that form always followed function, and personal comfort usually hovered somewhere between the two. Most dormitory levels were heavily crowded with each family sharing a small living space on a block full of identical accommodations. This led to personal items being few and far between. If something was not useful or essential, it really had no place on a quarian vessel.

The third level cargo bay of _The Rayya_ was no exception to this rule. Over a kilometer in length, the large space was a carefully organized maze of cargo crates and preservation barrels. Each stack of crates stretched up to an early brush against the ceiling that loomed twenty meters above the deck, and the narrow corridors that wound between the stacks were just wide enough to fit a cargo loader. The layout inspired claustrophobia, the tall stacks obstructing one's vision and constantly fostering the impression of being loomed over. At the far end of the cargo bay, a single line of cleared space stretched along the entirety of its length. No more than a few meters wide, the tunnel was lined by crates so that no one could accidentally step inside its boundaries. On any other part of the ship, this much empty room would be approaching sacrilege. Here, though, it had a singular purpose.

"Up and to the left."

Tali nodded and shifted about on her belly. Only a thin pad of foam was cushioning her from the textured metal of the deck and she was beginning to grow uncomfortable from holding herself in one position for so long. The sniper rifle was a cumbersome weight in her hands as she pressed it against a shoulder that was already sore from absorbing repeated recoil. It was not her favorite weapon to begin with, and after a long practice session, she was beginning to hate it with an unreasonable degree of venom.

For obvious reasons, it was very difficult to look down a weapon's scope when one's entire head was encased in a survival helmet. The quarian solution to this dilemma appeared as a small box that floated on the right side her visor's HUD. It displayed a live video feed that relayed a magnified view from the rifle's scope. A red targeting reticle hovered at the center of the display and darted about with each minor adjustment she made to rifle's barrel. Even with the stability assist, Tali found it difficult to aim in this manner. The disconnect between what she saw and the motions of the gun were all exaggerated, and having a part of her field of vision magnified twenty times occasionally made her feel nauseous.

Placing the reticle on the distant target, she tracked its motion before pulling the trigger. A loud clap of displacing mass effect fields echoed throughout the cargo hold as the rifle slammed into her shoulder like an unfriendly punch.

"Way to the right."

Tali mentally sighed and slapped the rifle's heat release with more force than was strictly required. A vent along the left side of the weapon popped open and a distorted stream of super-heated air blasted upwards as the gun cooled. A mass effect generator produced a great deal of energy when it discharged and all weapons needed to be properly cooled if they were to function. The vent closed on its own accord a few seconds later and Tali settled back into the firing position. "Any idea what I'm doing wrong?"

"Pay attention to your breathing and remember that you are squeezing the trigger, not pulling it." Kal'Reegar's deep and steady voice answered her. He was crouched to her left, acting as a spotter and making a valiant effort to help her improve. "The rifle should compensate for the distance, so just focus on controlling your own movements."

The advice was nothing she had not heard before, but Tali listened like her life depended on it. She was unused to having this much trouble learning a new task and it seemed to her that if she was capable of calculating drift variables for a Mass Relay, she should be able to hit a target sitting across a cargo hold. Kal'Reegar insisted that the two were in no way related, but the point remained.

This time around, she took special care to regulate her breathing as she moved the reticle to the target. Nothing more than a circular piece of reinforced metal, the target was fitted on a track so that it moved back and forth. Kal'Reegar had set it to the lowest speed, but when something was a kilometer away, it became harder to hit it regardless of how fast it was moving. Following its progress, Tali took her time and only fired when she was sure it would hit.

On a purely academic level, she knew exactly happened when she pulled that trigger. A tiny grain of the dense ammo block seated inside of the weapon's casing was shaved off and conveyed into the magnetic accelerators that ran the length of the barrel. There, the mass effect fields engaged and immediately reduced the bullet's mass to the barest fraction of its original state. By the time it left the barrel, that tiny grain of metal was approaching relativistic speeds. Its travel time would be minimal and thanks to the rifle's onboard targeting computer, it would have enough force behind it to reach its mark without dropping significantly. The rifle was designed to assist its operator in every way, and in the right hands, it was a terrifyingly efficient weapon.

However, in the wrong hands…

"Uh, no hit."

Tali groaned and dropped her head. "I don't believe it, I'm actually getting worse."

"You're doing fine."

"We've been going for at least a rotation and I haven't come close to hitting one of the targeting rings." She grumbled as she deactivated the targeting protocol on her HUD and set the rifle down next to her. Pushing herself to her feet, she brushed off the front of her suit and glanced over at Kal'Reegar. "You can say it: I'm hopeless."

He straightened up as well and she had to crane her head back just to maintain eye contact. Kal was several cycles her senior, and so he dwarfed her in most respects. "You're being hard on yourself. Considering that rifle is as big as you are, the fact that you can handle it at all is impressive."

If someone did not know him very well, they might think he was being genuine in his lukewarm praise. It was often difficult to find subtlety in his clipped manner, but Tali knew that there were degrees to that stoicism. Right now, he was teasing her in his own way. She played along by folding her arms across her chest to adopt a thoroughly unimpressed posture. "I'll have you know I grew three measures in the last span."

"Three measures? That's approaching significant."

"And your tendency toward sarcasm is approaching obnoxious." She sniffed airily and bent down to pick the rifle off of the floor. Tapping the control, she activated the standby mode and watched as the weapon folded up in a series of mechanical clicks until it resembled a compact rectangle. "Honestly though, I don't know why this is so hard. I didn't have nearly as much trouble with either the pistol or the combat rifle."

Kal took the folded weapon from her and walked over to a nearby armory locker. "It's like I said: they're different skills entirely. Tracking a distant mark is hard even with our targeting rigs. What you need to do is practice. As I recall, you didn't just pick up a pistol and know how to shoot it. That took some time."

"Yes, but not this long. This is the_ fourth _session we've spent working on just the sniper rifle and I've barely improved."

"And you are picking it up quick, just not as quick." Kal placed the rifle back in the armory crate before drawing out a different weapon and walking back to join her. "Don't worry about it. The worst case scenario is that we've found the one thing in the galaxy you aren't good at."

Tali blinked at him. "That's absurd. I'm not good at everything."

Kal'Reegar inclined his helmet in a gesture of polite disbelief. "How many specializations are you undertaking now? Seven? Eight?"

"Three." Feeling oddly defensive about the fact, Tali made it sound like a challenge. "And technically speaking, only one of those can be a specialization. The other two are vocations."

"Whatever type of 'ation' you want to call them, it's nothing short of insanity to have more than one. I was barely able to scrape through the Military SPEC with qualifying marks and that was only because you carried me."

Now, that was something of an exaggeration. She had helped him work through some of the more complex shielding algorithms from his academic work, but Kal had completed the difficult program on his own merit. "You carried yourself and I'm taking on a perfectly reasonable amount of work. I've heard of people with four SPECS."

"Sure, but I'd bet they did not take them all at once. Do you have any free time at all?"

She gestured down the shooting range. "Of course, what do you call this?"

"Worrisome." His eyes twinkled behind the dark glass of his visor. "I've tried to figure out why an Engineering SPEC on her fifteenth cycle would want to learn how to handle firearms and all the reasons I've come up with are concerning. Just swear that you'll give me some warning if you are planning to stage a mutiny or something."

"Please, if I really wanted to cause damage, I could do more with my omnitool than you could with every weapon in here." Tali cocked a hip and jerked the bottom of her helmet's filter in his direction. "And if you must know, I've heard that weapon proficiency is recommended for everyone going on Pilgrimage and most of us don't spend our days learning how to be a marine."

He shook his head. "You've got at least five cycles before you're ready for your Pilgrimage."

"It never hurts to start preparing." She glanced over at him, taking in the reinforced survival suit of The Fleet Marine Corps. He had gotten his immuno implants a few spans back and had probably just finished acclimatizing. "But I don't have to tell you that. Not much longer now, is there?"

Kal'Reegar looked down at her, but he no longer seemed amused. Instead, a strange tension seeped into his posture as though every part of him had tightened up all at once. "Less than a span."

Tali paused and studied him for a moment. She worried that she might have caused some offence. Kal was the most unflappable person she knew, and for something to affect that kind of change in his posture, it clearly had to be weighing on him. "Sorry, did I say something wrong?"

"No, it's nothing like that." He shifted uncomfortably and stroked a hand over the compact weapon that he still held cradled against his chest. "I suppose I am just conflicted about my Pilgrimage. It's a lot of different emotions coming to a head, you know?"

Tali stepped over to a nearby preservation barrels and vaulted up so that she was sitting on top of it. Doing so brought them to the roughly the same eyelevel. "Are you frightened?"

"I'd prefer to say nervous, but I suppose you could call it that. Considering that I've never even set foot on a planet before, it's daunting to think that I'm going to be all on my own in the galaxy." He spoke in a stilted, discomforted tone as though he were discussing a taboo subject rather than his own feelings. "Then there's the gift. Everyone says that it is mostly symbolic, but you've seen the way people look at subpar Pilgrimage offerings. Do you remember that crate of human trinkets that Robis'Valeen brought back? It might as well have been a varren with Scale Itch."

Gamely suppressing the urge to laugh, Tali nodded. "I think Robis was trying to teach us more about a new species and it was just misunderstood. Anyway, father says that the Pilgrimage isn't about the gift. It's about giving us a chance to see the galaxy and come into our own."

"Let's see what he says if _you_ were to show up with some alien toys. I might get by with a halfway decent gift, but everyone will expect more from an Admiral's daughter." Kal sounded sympathetic more than anything else. "You could bring back a brand new starship and people would just wonder why it wasn't a fleet."

Tali rolled her head on her shoulders in exasperation. "Please, you make it sound like I'm royalty. It isn't as though "Admiral's daughter" is a rank. I'm no different from anyone else."

"Maybe not, but since people need to take an interest in something, it might as well be Admiral Zorah's genius daughter." He gave her a significant look. "Besides, you do tend to cause a stir. Take that thing with the recycler unit for example."

She threw up her hands. "That was seven cycles ago! How long is it going to be before people stop bringing it up?"

"Probably around the same time that smell finally goes away."

Tali flashed him a rude hand gesture that one of the mechanics had taught her and smiled when Kal started to laugh. He did not laugh often, and she was glad to distract him from his troubles. The Pilgrimage was something that every young quarian spent their lives looking forward to, but now that she took a moment to think about it, she could understand why it must also be frightening once it came to time to leave the Flottila. The galaxy was a dangerous and unwelcoming place for her people. At best, quarians were treated like unwelcome guests, and at worst they faced discrimination or even violence. It was easy to forget that when one spent their entire lives inside the safety of the Migrant Fleet. Once on Pilgrimage, however, there would no refuge and little assistance.

She did not want her friend to dwell on the negative when he was so close to leaving. It was too important a moment to have it overshadowed by doubt. Waiting until he had finished laughing at her expense, she tried to remind him of why the Pilgrimage was worth the risk. "So, what's the first thing you're going to do once you get out in the galaxy? My dream is to find a scrap shop and raid it for all it is worth."

Kal pondered the question for a moment before responding. "Me? I plan to find to a holotheatre and watch one of those vids starring Bria Mesoult. I hear that our little viewer screens just don't do her justice."

"That asari actress?" Tali treated him to a derisive scoff. "Honestly, I don't know what you see in her. Those movies are terrible and people only watch them because of her generous proportions."

"That's hardly charitable of you."

"Oh? Then what I am missing?" It was her turn to tease him, and Tali went straight for the throat. "Is it her exceptional acting or the story that moves you? As I recall, her last movie was that absurd one about the Hanar spectre. What was it, Fistos?"

"Blasto. And that is a classic you are impugning." Kal crossed his arms with an irritable huff. "Anyway, what's your point?"

"Just that she is shallow and vapid."

He chuckled. "Well, she's no Daro'Xen, that's for sure."

Tali made an inarticulate sound as her next words died in her throat. Trying to recover, she managed to force out a startled response. "And what is supposed to mean?"

"Just an idle observation." His level voice had taken on a sly edge that suggested his comment was anything but idle. "You do seem to talk about her an awful lot."

She jabbed a finger in his direction. "I_ admire_ Captain Xen as a capable and talented role model."

"Uh-huh. And if I were to check your omnitool I wouldn't find any vid recordings of her, right?"

Tali's cheeks grew warm. "That is a recording of a speech she gave on the future of our people. I find it to be inspiring."

"Funny, 'cause Bria Mesoult inspires me plenty."

"It is not the same thing." She jabbed a finger into his chest. "And even if it were, at least I would not be mooning over some actress I'd never meet."

"Sure, your crush is far more realistic." Kal nodded in placid agreement. "I can see it now: you're spending a late night in the ship's library and Captain Xen just happens to stop by. You serenade her with quantum field theory, she whispers sweet mathematical constants in your ear…stuff of romance right there."

Tali nodded her head slowly as she glared over up at him. "Give me that gun."

"Yeah, not sure if I'm comfortable with that."

She scoffed. "I'm not going to shoot you, bosh'tet, but I do want to shoot something. Preferably something that I can see without a telescope."

"Well, I thought you might say something like that, so give this a try." He passed her the weapon, his voice becoming all business now that they had reentered his field of expertise. "It's called a shotgun. They fire a handful of bullets in a spread. Krogans use something similar but the recoil on those monsters would knock you right over. These human variants are more manageable but that doesn't mean they are any less nasty. I figure you might want to give one a try for novelty's sake."

"Sure. Might as well."

Tali placed it into active mode and watched as the stock and barrel unfolded from the main portion of the gun's body. It was a stubby weapon, but it was heavy and felt solid in her hands. "It's a little unwieldy."

"That it is. Make sure you have a good grip on it. Those things kick when you fire them."

Mindful of the safety protocols that Kal adamantly enforced, Tali stepped over to the firing line and kept the barrel pointed downrange. "What do I shoot at?"

"Give me a second."

Kal activated his omnitool and input a few commands. After a second, there was an audible hum of a micromanufacturer and then a glowing blue silhouette of a geth solider appeared about twenty meters away. Smirking at his choice of targets, Tali waved a hand at the construct. "Aren't you going to make it move?"

"Just try to hit it and we can go from there."

Tali nodded and brought the weapon up to her shoulder. The weapon had two sets of targeting sights set at different points down the barrel, and it was similar enough to one of the combat rifles that she could guess how to use it. Placing the geth target between the sights, she steadied herself and pulled the trigger.

The recoil nearly knocked her over.

A thunderous explosion shattered the quiet of the cargo bay as the gun bucked in her grip. Tali staggered back a step and might have tripped over her own feet if Kal had not been there to brace her. Embarrassed and certain that she was due for some more teasing, she sheepishly righted herself. "Sorry, I suppose that the sniper rifle might be a better fit after all."

Kal chuckled and pointed downrange. "I don't know about that. You seem to have done alright."

Confused, Tali looked in the direction he indicted and was greeted by the sight of a headless geth soldier. The hologram's shoulders were shredded by gunfire, and the angular head was entirely absent. Staring at it in shock for a moment, Tali slowly turned to look at Kal. "Can I do that again?"

"Why not?"

He touched his omnitool once more and three more geths took the place of the one she had just decapitated. This time, Tali adjusted her stance in anticipation for the weapon's kick and gave the trigger another pull. She rode the recoil this time, and instead of getting knocked back, she absorbed the force with her legs and maneuvered the gun back into position. Firing twice more in relatively quick succession, she lowered the weapon's barrel and took in her handiwork.

Three dead geths.

A smile passed over her lips. Glancing down at the shotgun, she stroked a hand along the burnished metal of the gun's body. "Oh, I like this. I like this a lot."

Kal sighed. "As I said: worrisome."

Tali laughed and put the weapon into standby mode. Looking over at Kal, she felt a warm sense of triumph that was mingled with a touch of sadness. She was going miss doing this with him once he had left on Pilgrimage. Part of her was happy for him, but these trips to the gun range were important to her and it would not be the same without Kal around. Handing the shotgun over, Tali stopped him and rested her hand on his forearm. "I hope you enjoy your Pilgrimage, Kal. I know you will have a great time and do us all proud. Just promise me you'll be safe."

He hesitated and then covered her hand with his own. "It's a promise. Thanks for the thought, and I'll be back before you know it."

Tali looked down. "But it will be different then, won't it? You'll have duties and will probably join with a different ship."

"Maybe, but that won't change us being friends." Kal withdrew his hand and moved to place the shotgun back in the armory. Turning back, he flicked one hand in an easy dismissal. "Tell you what: I promise to get back in one piece if you promise to have some actual fun while I'm gone. I'll even bring you back some turian candy if I can find any that's properly sealed."

"Show me how to make those geth targets and I'll have plenty of fun."

"It's a deal then." He glanced downrange at the destroyed targets and gave a short chuckle. "You know, if you keep shooting like this, you'll be ready for the real thing by the time I get back."

Tali placed a hand on her hip and tried to disguise how much his praise had pleased her. "You can count on it."

…

* * *

xxXxx

…

_Petra Nebula. Vetus System, Elysium_

_2178 CE, January 3rd_

_GST: 10:28_

_..._

"_Lieutenant Shepard?"_

Park Ranger Cassandra Lengum's voice filtered through the comm unit's transmitter in a crackling buzz of static. The ongoing snowstorm was playing absolute havoc on the shortwave channels, but with the satellite network either destroyed or otherwise disabled, the antiqued comm frequencies were the only ones available. Lifting her arm, Shepard spoke into the receiver strapped to her wrist. "I read you, Cass, and stop using my rank. No telling who might be listening."

"_Right, sorry." _Lengum spoke too quickly, and though she still sounded like the competent woman that Shepard had met last week, there was an underlying tremor to her words. _"I thought you would want to know that they are passing the second ranger station."_

"You sure about that?"

"_Picked them up on two of the weather cameras. They didn't bother to stop at this one."_

"And how long does that leave us with?"

"_If they circle around the lake, we're looking at twenty, maybe twenty-five minutes."_

"If they don't?"

"_Then we won't have to worry. The ice is still going to be thin at this time of year. They'll never make it across if they try."_

"Nice as that would be, let's plan on them being here in twenty." Shepard twisted her wrist to read the time display on the side of the comm. "Radio silence from now on unless there is an emergency. We really need the element of surprise."

"_Roger that." _Lengum drew in a deep breath that hissed unpleasantly through the electronic connection. "_Hey, Shepard? What happens if this doesn't work?"_

They'd both end up dead or worse. Shepard let the thought run through her head but knew better than to give it voice. Cass was frightened out of her mind and looking for reassurance, not the truth. Shepard was privately nursing some fears of her own, but she had the advantage of having spent the last four years learning how to be exceptionally lethal. She was letting the training take over, and that gave her an automatic sense of confidence. Rolling her eyes up to the wooden rafters above, Shepard adopted the most comforting tone she could. "Everything is going to work out fine. Just wait 'till I give the signal and then dial that comm frequency I gave you."

"_Yeah, sure. I can handle that, Shepard."_

"Glad to hear it. Just keep calm and it will be over in an hour."

"_Okay. See you on the other side."_

The comm link went silent and it came as a relief. Shepard liked Cassandra well enough, but she had too much on her mind to worry about holding a civilian's hand. It said something about her quality of luck that she could end up in the middle of a full-scale planetary assault while on vacation. Not only that, but because the Alliance had decided to reward her by setting her up in officer's lodging, she was the only marine stationed within eighty kilometers. That left her with an awful lot to do, and so she turned back to the bomb that was spread out over the wooden tabletop in front of her.

It was as simplistic as such a thing could get. For casings, she'd used several aluminum food canisters that she'd salvaged from the lodge's kitchen, and the simple detonator had been wired to a luxury comm device that she'd spent the better part of the last thirty minutes dissembling. All of this was strapped to about two liters of industrial Det Gel. Forest-green and with a consistency like putty, the high explosive was a holdover from some of the earlier efforts to mine Elysium. Her understanding was that the resort had been using it to safely trigger avalanches, but now it was going to be used in the way that God intended explosives to be used. Det Gel was stable and not nearly as devastating as military-grade plastiques, but in the concentration that Shepard was dealing with, it would do the job.

She checked that device was hooked up properly before binding the canisters together with a few lengths of electrical tape. Taking the bomb in hand, she stood up from the cafeteria table and started making her way toward the front doors of the lodge.

As the largest building at the Snowshoe resort, the lodge would be a natural target when the attack finally came. Equal parts ski resort and hotel, it was designed to look like an enormous and spectacularly fancy log cabin. The common room was a cafeteria and bar that was predominately furnished with cafeteria-style tables and faux hunting trophies. What made it attractive to Shepard was that the main road ran right along the building's façade. When the enemy came down from the mountains, they would enter town and be approaching the lodge more or less immediately. Any Batarian pirate worth his salt would take one look at this place and pop a greed-induced erection. All of that meant that the lodge was the perfect lure for someone looking to set up an ambush.

Someone like Shepard.

She pushed open the glass doors and made her way out into the gusting snowfall. The courtyard beyond was oval-shaped and covered in a white layer of unblemished snow. To her left, the ski slopes reared upwards with their spindly lines of lift chairs and marker flags. A row of two-story condos stood between the base of the slopes and the lodge. They would be her vantage point; the gently tapered rooftops provided enough purchase to give her a serviceable sniping position. Stretching between the lodge and condos was a large parking lot that was bisected by the main road. As the storm and road conditions had forced the resort's denizens to abort their evacuation attempt, an uneven grid of terrestrial vehicles and low-altitude flyers were still parked throughout the space. The road had been plowed recently, but banks of snow rose up on either side. It meant that the pirates would be hemmed in and forced down a choke. Once things got loud, Shepard was going to be operating with an ideal kill zone. This courtyard was wide open and there were only a few places to take cover. From an elevated position, she'd be able to create all manner of hell.

She stepped off the lodge's porch and made her way over to the road and then jogged about 50 meters northwards. The oddly-texturized soles of her boots provided a surprising degree of traction even on the fresh snow. Like the rest of her winter gear, they were borrowed from one of the overpriced shops following news of the assault. She truly liked the slate-grey jacket she had found. It was lightweight and made of synthetic fabric that kept her warm in spite of the biting winds and snowfall. She was less fond of the skintight black pants that went with it, but they felt durable even if they did make her look like a ski bunny. Considering that she had come to Elysium completely unprepared for the climate, she really was not in a position to complain in any case.

Once she'd reached the ambush point, Shepard stooped down and placed the bomb in a hole she had dug earlier. There was a second, nearly identical device buried about fifteen meters further down the road, and Shepard prayed that they would both function properly. There was always a chance that the cold would muck up the electronics and cause this entire plan to go south. She might have taken a shine to demolition training back in N3, but that had been with better detonators and ideal circumstances. When it came down to it, there was a considerable chance of this turning into a lamentable clusterfuck. The sad part was that she wouldn't know for sure until it was too late for her to do anything about it.

She circled around the bomb to make sure it was not too visible before turning to head back the way she'd came. As she went, she lifted one hand to wave at the observation tower that stood about a hundred meters behind the lodge. Cassandra was up there getting a bird's eyes view of the road. Of all the nearly two hundred civilians who had been at the resort when the attack came, only Cassandra had offered to help Shepard. The rest were cowering in the fire department and ranger station like a group of frightened children. They were an odd mixture of humans and alien races united only by their affluence and apparent inability to save their own skins. A few of the guests had already decided to chance the storm and flee using low-atmo fliers, but the majority was content to wait for rescue. Shepard had tried with little success to explain that rescue could be a long time coming. There was no telling if the Alliance even knew that Elysium was under attack, and it was entirely possible that enemy ground forces could have already overrun the major population centers.

These civilians wanted to close their eyes and hope for the best. The very idea was enough to make her lip curl. She had no use for helpless people.

Stepping back into the welcome warmth of the lodge's interior, she slid a hand into her jacket's pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She drew one from the case using her teeth and lit it as she walked over to the table where the gun was resting. Like the snowsuit she was wearing, the gun was not hers. Whoever had owned the hunting rifle before all this occurred had a major fetish for Old Earth fashion. Its stock was non-collapsible and fashioned from real wood. The long, heavy barrel was inscribed with silly little flourishes that made the thing look like it belonged in an Outrider vid. Pointless aesthetics aside, the weapon was solid and was technically functional in that it fired bullets. The major downside was that those bullets came in cartridges.

Cartridges. _Actual_. _Goddamn_._ Cartridges_.

Fine, she could understand that the retro crap was all the rage right now, but would it kill these douchebags to have a few modern weapons lying around? The conical bullets that the gun used were propelled by explosive powder and were a few hundred times larger than a MR round. That was not to say that they were more effective. Average MR ammunition conveyed more force upon impact and made it so that the weapon only needed to be reloaded every few thousand rounds or so. These cartridges were an affectation and nothing more. An army of pirates was heading her way, and from the scattered reports that had made it past the atmospheric interference, they would be armed with assault weapons and APC's. Shepard was going to be taking them on with a goofy relic and a park ranger.

So yes, today was shaping up to be bad day.

She dragged at her cigarette as she glared down at the rifle and willed it to not be such a pretentious piece of shit. Her efforts were in vain, however, and in lieu of a better weapon, she decided that she could settle for having a drink.

The one bit of finery in this entire place that Shepard liked was the bar that stretched along the back wall of the lodge. It was shaped from a single piece of Asari whorlwood that must have cost several fortunes to import. The dark wood was exquisite; its mottled accents of gold and amber practically glowing under the soft cast of the room's lighting. Whoever polished it was a veritable artist and it leant the room a rich sense of warmth. Behind the bar, a great mirror had been installed with shelving on either side that held bottles of various, expensive spirits placed on prominent display. A handsome set of double-doors located off the right end of the bar led into the kitchen beyond. The chefs were all gone, which was a shame because she hadn't eaten anything since the emergency broadcast had come online several hours prior.

Shepard strolled over and trailed her fingers along the top of the polished surface. She may not like this gaudy resort or the people in it, but when a thing was truly beautiful, she could spare a moment to admire the fact.

A glance at her comm unit revealed that she still had a good fifteen minutes before things got interesting. She should be out and getting into position, but she could spare a moment for a drink. It could easily be her last and she saw no real harm in it. Leaning over the bar, she stretched out her arm and just barely managed to snag a bottle of scotch that was probably as old as she was. Of course, both the military and common sense would really frown on what she was doing, but these were the times that try men's souls and Shepard was thirsty.

Besides, this was supposed to be her vacation.

She yanked the stopper and put down two swallows without bothering to taste it. The cigarette had given her something to do with her hands while she waited, but the liquor was the real treat. It stung the back of her throat before settling in her stomach as a warm glow. She breathed out the worst of the alcohol's burn and felt a bit more in control. Her buzz from this morning was already beginning to fade, and this was going to be hard enough without having sobriety breathing down the back of her neck.

Resting her forearms on the bar, she leaned forward and brought her cigarette to her lips. In the reflection of the bar's mirror, the tip flared and faded in a steady cadence. This was as close to steady as she ever got, and the relative peace made it easy for her to appreciate the irony of her situation.

When the Alliance had offered her a three-week leave with all expenses paid, it'd seem liked a great idea. She'd never been on a vacation in her life and although Elysium was a touch colder than she liked, it was also a jewel in the Alliance's crown. The trip was meant as an unofficial reward for everything that she'd accomplished in the last several months, and the last order that she'd been given was to "take it easy". Unsure of where to even begin with something like that, Shepard had done her best to enjoy a ski resort in spite of not being able to ski.

Then, the pirate army had made its appearance, and is so often the case with pirate armies, things took a turn for the unpleasant.

The attack was sudden and could have proved immediately overwhelming were it not for Elysium's static defenses. Due to the planet's proximity to Hegemony space, there had long since been concerns regarding security. Every single major city had powerful AA guns installed nearby and there at least ten heavy gun platforms hanging in orbit. Even this resort had three retractable flak turrets that had come online when the planetary emergency system went active. They might not be enough to take on a frigate or a gunship, but they did make it very hard for light aircraft to land. A ground assault was the obvious choice and Shepard had not been surprised when the weather cams picked up a raiding party coming down the mountain pass. This resort was a good place to plunder even if its tactical value was negligible. That said, if the batarians were having a real hard time gaining ground on Elysium, they might be grateful for any staging area they could get their hands on. This place had power and landing pads, and that might be enough of a foothold to start encroaching on the sea-level villages.

That was the situation. A hostile force was approaching and there was no way to evacuate all the civilians without having the terrestrial roads clear. There just weren't enough fliers and even fewer pilots confident enough to fly blind in a snow storm. She had no real choice but to try to fight. Batarians either slaughtered everyone or took slaves. Hard to say which was worse given the horror stories told by liberated captives.

Shepard breathed out a smoky sigh. It would really be a shame if she ended up dead or enslaved. She'd just gotten her commission, and although achieving the designation of N6 was a feat in of itself, she would die an unsatisfied woman if she never made N7. Besides, she'd had most of her neural pathways rewritten when they jammed that biotic amp into her brain stem, and it would seem very anticlimactic if she never actually mastered her newfound abilities.

Almost unconsciously, Shepard lifted a hand to explore the tiny metal implant that had been installed where her spine met her skull. Nearly two years in and she was just starting to get used to it. The Alliance techs had once told her that most children exposed to Element Zero while in utero did not develop biotic abilities. Rather, they developed severe cancer and died young. A fraction of them were lucky enough to survive with no ill effects, and only a scarce few were gifted with biotic potential. Shepard had never known about any EEZO exposure until her preliminary medical exam had revealed a hilarious amount of biotic nodules attached to her nervous system.

She honestly would have preferred to remain a regular soldier, but the Alliance doctors had flipped their shit when she said as much. Eventually, only the revelation that all biotics entered service with a commission had swayed her. Thanks to a temporary deferment and her work with the N7 program, she was still only half-trained. It would probably be take another five hundred hours of work to achieve a designation.

Regardless, here she was four years after enlisting: an officer, a biotic, and almost certainly going to die while on vacation. She chuckled to herself before lifting the scotch bottle in an imaginary toast and downing another sip.

"_Lieutenant Shepard!" _

She jolted in surprise and started coughing around the scotch as Cassandra's frantic whisper crackled out of her comm unit. Eyes watering, she straightened up and spoke into her transmitter. "I read you. What is it?"

"_God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I must have missed them. I don't know how long they have been here!"_

"Wait, what?" Shepard smothered her cigarette in the ashtray on the bar and felt her heart skip a beat. "Cass, slow down and tell me what's going on."

"_A-Alright hold on." _Cassandra's voice quavered and she went silent for a few seconds. When she next spoke, she sounded marginally calmer. _"There's a skimmer parked behind the lodge, one of those cheap models. It wasn't there before and I think I just saw someone go in through the back doors."_

"Of the lodge?"

"_Yes, and now…shit! There's another walking toward the tower. He's…oh hell, he's got a gun, Shepard!"_

Shepard mentally cursed. "Get away from the window. Just use the monitors and keep track of where the other batarians are. I'll be there in a—"

She never got a chance to finish her sentence, because at that exact moment, the doors to the kitchen swung outwards and a batarian strolled into the room with a machine pistol held in one hand.

Time dilated as an explosion of adrenaline roared through her system. Batarians were an unpleasant looking sort, and the one standing no more than five meters to her right was no exception. He looked like a human burn victim with an extra set of eyes and a mouthful of cactus spines. This particular one was wearing a dark-orange jumpsuit that had a collared mantel made from stiff leather. A large gauntlet encircled his left wrist and forearm, though its purpose was utterly mysterious. He did not register Shepard's presence immediately, but it only took a second before all four of his completely black eyes landed on her.

Mutual surprise kept them both locked in place at first, but then without ever really meaning to, Shepard started moving.

Her hand closed around the neck of the scotch bottle and she flung it sidearm even as the startled alien brought his weapon to bear. Her aim was either lucky or good, and the very expensive bottle caught him right where his nose would have been if he were a human. Sadly, it didn't shatter in a glorious explosion of glass, but instead impacted the squishy "thunk" before clattering to floor. The batarian's head snapped backwards and he nearly fell over as he stumbled back to slump against the wall.

Shepard took her chance. There was no way she'd get to her rifle without taking a few dozen slugs to the back, so instead she rounded the bar and charged her enemy. She was desperate, and that made her angry.

The batarian raised his head just in time to block her left hook with his jaw. Shepard seized his gun arm with both hands and smashed his wrist against the wall with as much force as she could muster. The priority was dealing with his weapon, and though he retained his grip on the pistol, she was now too close for it to be easily angled in her direction.

Her opponent finally realized that he was supposed to be fighting back. A heavy fist swung toward her head, but it was poorly aimed and she caught the worst of it on her shoulder. Shepard hardly noticed the blow as she whipped an elbow into his face and then stomped down hard on the toe of his boot. It was painful as all hell and she wanted him distracted as she bashed his gun against the wall for a second time. Her left hand came up and she swatted the weapon free like she was stripping a carry in Thrashball. It struck the floor and skittered its way underneath one the cafeteria tables and out of the fight.

Shepard did not have much time to savor the small triumph as the batarian promptly slammed his forehead against her mouth. Her teeth sunk into the inner lining of her cheek and she let out an angry grunt as the batarian bodily shoved her backwards. Using the new distance between them, he pushed off the wall and swung a heavy fist at her head.

It was perhaps the most telegraphed haymaker in the history of punching. Shepard saw it coming from a mile away and rolled her head underneath it with ease. The movement was automatic, an action she had practiced so many times that her muscles reacted without any command. She could almost hear Rodriguez's voice counting off the motions as she snapped her right fist into the batarian's ribs and then hammering her left into the underside of his jaw. Stepping in close, she caught him in a clinch and drove her knee into his midsection before wrenching him to the side with a vicious twist of her shoulders.

She let him go and watched as he careened over to crash into the side of the bar. Straightening up, she shook the tension from her muscles and moved to pursue. This wasn't so bad. Scary at first, but now that the adrenaline rush had plateaued, she was keyed-up and flooded with energy. The sensation was exciting, pleasurable even.

"_Lieutenant Shepard? Come in, Shepard!"_

She ignored her comm unit as she closed the distance. Though he wasn't much of a fighter, this batarian was a tough bastard. She'd pounded several shades of shit out of him and he didn't look ready to go down. He righted himself against the bar and turned to face her as she stalked forward with her guard already raised. That elbow she'd thrown must have messed with some part of his sinus tract because the lower right side of his face was swelling up like a balloon. His already unpleasant face became much more so when he glared at her and spat out a wad of dark-red blood. "You're going to beg me to kill you, human."

Her translator converted his speech into English, but it did not disguise the fact that his voice had all the delicacy of garbage compactor. Shepard gave him an unkind smile. Talk was cheap and it was hard to take the batarian's threat seriously when he kept backing away to maintain the distance between them. Stupidly, he moved behind the bar and effectively hemmed himself into a narrow corridor. He seemed to realize this a little too late, and with no other choice, he stopped and let Shepard come to him.

The stance he adopted was foreign. It was a bit like a boxer's crouch, but he kept his right fist down by his lower ribs while his left stayed up. Shepard observed him for a second before drawing her elbows against her body and lifting her guard to hide her face. They moved closer, and mindful of her opponent's wariness, Shepard feinted a few times to mess with his focus.

Her comm unit blared out another frantic plea. "_Shepard, please! I think he's coming for me!"_

She shifted her attention to the communicator for a bare instant and in that short time, something very bad occurred. The batarian's hand darted to one side and she flinched in expectation of an attack, but all he did was activate some switch on the bulky gauntlet he was wearing. Thinking that he was calling for help, Shepard darted forward to prevent him from doing so only to stop short when five blades shot out of the front of the mysterious gauntlet.

Each of them were weirdly flanged and extended a good 30cms beyond his closed fist. Three of them were slightly longer and arrayed in a triangular layout, the other two being shorter and positioned one on either side of the larger grouping. All five were sharpened on either sides and gleamed like silver as he lowered his arm back into a fighting stance.

Shepard's stomach tightened up. "Shit."

The batarian laughed in obvious satisfaction and it was then that Shepard appreciated the fact that she was trapped behind the bar. The bastard had lured her in.

She just barely managed to jump backwards in order to avoid a backhanded swing that would have chopped her into far too many pieces. Momentum carried the weapon into the gorgeous whorlwood bar and instead of sticking there, the tips passed cleanly through the hard surface as though it were made of straw.

Monomolecular blades. Shepard's bad day was getting worse.

The batarian followed up with a forehanded swipe that came close enough for one of the glittering tips to tug at the fabric of her jacket. She kept retreating, hoping to get free of the bar and at least have some space to maneuver, but her opponent didn't give her the chance. Before she could scamper back further, he howled and plunged the weapon forward in a thrust. Shepard desperately twisted to one side, but this time around, she was too slow. One of the blades grazed her right flank and drew a pained yelp from her throat.

There was no time to give the wound much thought. Her opponent had overextended with his attack and she needed to capitalize. She stepped in and drove her left hand upwards into his throat. His warrior's shout became a gurgle as his airway locked tight and underwent a trauma-induced spasm. Few things hurt like a punch to the throat, and the sudden loss of oxygen was enough to make anyone panic.

Shepard growled out a harsh breath as she forced him back against the bar's mirror. It cracked as the back of his skull smacked against it, and several of the bottles on display thudded down to spray them with a mixture of glass shards and acrid liquor. She could feel a growing patch of warm wetness on her right side, but it did not really register in her mind. The pain was a dull and faraway sensation that lacked importance. All she could process was the mingled desires to fight, to win, and to survive.

She locked her hands around his left wrist and inner elbow. Using leverage and every ounce of her strength she possessed, she tried to force the weapon back toward him. The batarian struggled, of course, but he was short of breath and in a bad position. By increments, the pronged tips of the claw weapon moved upwards she pushed it toward his neck. Their faces were inches apart, her teeth bared in response to the strain and his mouth fluctuating as he tried to breath. He was going to lose this, both of them knew it.

And then, in the spirit of the day, things did not go as planned.

She'd gotten it about halfway there when the batarian finally recovered his voice. He rasped something that her translator didn't pick up, but the words weren't directed at her. The gauntlet on his arm chirped loudly as it confirmed the verbal command, and then the distinctive hum of magnetic accelerators filled the air. Before Shepard could react, the cluster of monomolecular blades abruptly disengaged and shot upwards like a handful of thrown darts.

She gasped as two of them lashed across the bridge of her nose and nicked her left eyebrow. There was no pain at first, but the matching lines of numb pressure that spread over her face told her that damage had been done. She flinched back and momentarily forgot about her enemy as she lifted a hand to protect the wounded area. It was a mistake, and it cost her.

Pain erupted across her jaw as she was blindsided by a punch. Shepard fell back against the bar and threw out a hand to keep herself from collapsing. The entire left side of her forehead began to flare up with red-hot agony as her nervous system finally caught on to what was happening. Furious and rattled from the punch, she pushed off the bar in an attempt to regain her footing.

Before she could properly rise, rough hands encircled her throat and shoved her back down. Her air was cut off and she felt an instinctual panic rise up thick and fierce in her breast. She went with her training and tried to force him to loosen his grip. It was not a good position, flat on her back with no way to gain leverage and in immediate danger. He had four eyes so she jabbed upwards with her fingers in an attempt to gouge, but he was canny enough to rear back out of reach. With him pressed up against her like this, there was no way for her to easily strike at his groin, and for the first time, Shepard began to worry.

Her vision began to blur and darken as she switched to trying to force his hands off. The sound of her pulse hammered against her ear drums as her lungs started to burn from deprivation. One of her fingernails broke as she clawed at the rough skin of his hand.

Just as things were looking truly grim, she somehow noticed the corkscrew. It was one of the old fashioned types, a "T" of metal that could be easily folded and slipped into a waiter's pocket. It rested just under the lip of the bar and off to her right. At first, it seemed like it was kilometers away, but when she stretched out a hand to grasp at it, she was amazed to find her fingertips brushing against the handle. With a supreme effort, she caught hold of it and dragged it into her grasp. Clutching it so that the screw protruded from between the knuckles of her closed fist, she swung the improvised weapon in a wide arch.

It impacted into the side of his neck with a crunchy pop. The iron grip around her neck immediately loosened and she heard a wheezing gasp of pain. She sucked in a deep breath that sounded ragged but felt amazing. Her vision cleared a moment later and she was greeted with the satisfying sight of the batarian trying to plug a leaking throat with one hand.

A black, mindless rage seized her like a toxin taking hold. The very fires of hell seemed to take life in her blood and the only thing she wanted was to eliminate this thing that had tried to kill her. No, she wanted to do more than kill him. She wanted to make these last few moments of his life into something horrible.

He tried to stumble back and away from her, but she caught hold of the collar of his shirt and yanked him down over the bar. She rolled on top, pinning him with her weight as she shoved his head against the wood. The corkscrew was still clutched in her fist, so she lifted it up and slammed it down into his cheek.

The batarian screamed and Shepard felt a tingling rush course through her system. Her world went red and then she was stabbing him over and over as he writhed beneath her like a landed fish. That terrible rage became mingled with a fierce excitement that lent her movements a frenetic bite. Blood splattered against her face to join the stream that was already coursing from the cuts on her forehead. She could taste the salty thickness of it in her mouth, and God help her, but it only spurred her on.

A sound tore its way from the depths of her chest as she killed him. It was partially a scream, partially a coughing fit, but mostly, it was laughter.

Only after the batarian had gone still and silent did she stop. The edges of the corkscrew's handle had dug into her palm deep enough to draw blood, and she had to will her fingers to uncurl and allow it to fall from her hand. Trembling all over, Shepard braced herself against the bloodstained bar and tried to get her breathing under control.

Holy hell, did she feel good.

Her muscles were wound tight with tension, and though her face and side both burned with pain, these were not unwelcome sensations. That could be because of the scotch, but there was no explaining the psychotic, dizzying joy that had overtaken her. It was as though her entire body was a slumbering limb that had just awoken. Her skin prickled with adrenaline and her mind luxuriated in a blanket of endorphins. This was better than doing orbital drops in N5, better than drinking, or smoking, or any of the other dumb shit she did in her spare time. This right here was the most alive she'd ever felt.

And better yet, nothing seemed impossible. She was flooded with a lazy strength like the afterglow of a powerful orgasm. She felt like she could climb a mountain or wipe out an entire army without even breaking a sweat. What she needed was a release, something that could take this feeling and channel it into physical outlet. Maybe once this was over, she and Cassandra could find a quiet place and—

"_Shepard!? For god's sake, come in!"_

Oh, right. Cassandra.

She jolted and stared at her comm unit without comprehension for a moment. Everything came back to her at once, and she fumbled to activate the transmitter. "Here. I'm here."

"_Oh, thank god!" _Cassandra sounded on the verge of hysteria. "_He's coming toward the tower. I don't know what to do!"_

Shepard made a vain effort to clean the blood from her left eye. "Who?"

"_The batarian! He's headed right for the door. What do I do, Shepard?"_

Shepard shook her head as if that would clear the haze that had settled in her thoughts. It was time to focus, and she found herself giving orders without really meaning to. "You got a flare gun, right? Point it at the top of the stairs and if anyone comes up without announcing themselves, shoot them. Got that?"

"_Y-Yes."_

"Good. Stay quiet and don't move. I'm on my way."

Shepard didn't wait for Cassandra to respond. Reaching under the bar, she grabbed a nearby bar towel and used it to rapidly bind the wound on her hand. Her face could bleed all it wanted to, but she was going to need her hands dry and functional in the immediate future. She caught a brief glimpse of herself in the bar's mirror and decided not to go back for a second look. What she saw was a mess of blood and she was going to have some interesting scars if she survived today.

Her next priority was the batarian's discarded machine pistol. It had been knocked away during their struggle, and her desire for a modern weapon superseded all other concerns. Rushing back around the bar, she dropped to her knees and peered under the tables until she spotted it lying next to one of the attached benches. With a satisfied exclamation, she plucked it off the floor and looked it over.

It was a Haliat Scarbara, an out-of-date Turian design that was popular amongst low-rent criminals looking for cheap firepower. Most respectable organizations disliked the fact that it was inaccurate and about as reliable as a krogan mathematician. Still, it fired MR rounds and if she encountered a pirate with proper shielding, it would probably save her life.

Her hands swept over the weapon automatically, checking that the ammo block was seated properly and that the mag accelerators were functional. The gun was only slightly larger than a standard issue Hahne-Kedar sidearm and seemed to be in relatively good order. The only thing out of place was that the safety was on.

She shook her head before turning to look back at what was left of the batarian. "And you almost killed me? Jesus H. Christ."

In the interest of not wasting any more time, she placed the weapon in standby mode and stored it in her jacket's front pocket. She then ran for the lodge's front doors, pausing just long enough to grab her hunting rifle and sling it over her shoulders by the strap.

She tore out of the lodge at a dead sprint and made for the observation tower. This was all her fault. She should have been outside in her perch. She should have been watching. She should have never left things to an untrained civilian. Most of all, she should not have been drinking and smoking like an Academy student on holiday. Now the entire plan was at risk and she could very well have caused the death of every person at this resort. The thought shamed her, and she swore that she would save Cass if nothing else.

Too many mistakes for one day, all she could do now was minimize the damage. There was no telling what would happen, whether she could save Cass or if this plan would work at all. The only real certainty was that there was more killing to be done.

The thought should not have made her smile, but it did.

It really did.

...

* * *

So, Shepard is a bit out of control at this point in her life. The next chapter focus on the aftermath of Elysium and how it acts as a wake up call for her. I wanted to thank everyone for reading and I hope you will leave a review if you have any comments you'd like to share.

Next part should be out sometime next week, till then!


	3. Chapter 3: In the Graveyard of Heroes

**A/N: **Sorry this took so long! I ended up reworking it about seven times because I was having a hard time getting the tone right. Thanks so much to my beta Gorg for lending a hand!

Chapter 3: In the Graveyard of Heroes

~0~

* * *

xxXxx

...

_Petra Nebula. Vetus System, Elysium_

_2178 CE, January 3rd_

_GST: 12:03_

_..._

The snow had stopped.

There was an interesting quality to the stillness that followed in the wake of a storm. The world was not quiet so much as it was subdued. The murmuring voice of the wind seemed curiously muted as it conveyed little wisps of powder along the surface of the new snow. Far up above, the grey sky was a static canvas littered with dark clouds that hung thick and ponderous. There were no animal sounds, no hints of movement, nothing to indicate that this was a place of life. Everything felt tentative and solemn like an unwanted parishioner lingering at the outskirts of a funeral. It seemed to Shepard as though the world had stopped, taken a step back, and cautiously agreed that the excitement was over.

She had won.

It really was as simple as that. If she were pressed, she could go into detail, describe the impossibly loud explosion that had torn the courtyard into pieces, give an exact figure on how many batarians she shot afterwards, or estimate the total time in which everything had elapsed. She could reflect on the tense moment when a batarian with a grenade launcher had forced her out of her sniper's nest, or else identify the point where she had become desperate enough to start relying on her partially developed biotics. She could discuss all of these things in a situation report, but they were incidental details, unimportant. All that mattered was winning.

Shepard sat motionless atop the charred rim of an APC's tire. It had been violently separated from the rest of the vehicle and now lay on its side in the middle of the lodge's parking lot. Around her, the once pleasant courtyard was a smoldering ruin. The detonation points for the two bombs were at the epicenter, twin scorch marks that had blackened the surrounding area with muddy plumes of pulverized asphalt and dirt. Most of the fires had died down by this point, but there was a single civilian vehicle that was still thoroughly ablaze, its tires and upholstery burning merrily amidst the skeleton of its twisted chassis. A stream of tarry smoke floated from the wreckage, hints of its reek drifting her way intermittently to meld with the more consistent aromas of blood, shit, and cooking flesh. Even the best sort of death smelled awful, and these batarians had not died in the best sort of way.

Shepard inhaled the stench without complaint. Her attention was far away and on nothing in particular. An unlit cigarette dangled between her lips, its filter stained with traces of her own blood. Her lighter lay in the snow at her feet, forgotten from the last time she had fumbled and dropped it. She felt so tired that moving any part of her body was onerous, but her hands were shaking like an alcoholic's on the first day of sobriety. Even now, long after the last bullet had been fired, she could not quite convince them to level out and calm the fuck down.

"…_Hnnngh…."_

Her eyes drifted, taking in minor details: the dark ruby bloodstains that appeared black against the white snow, the perforated, broken corpses scattered throughout the area like dirty clothing discarded in haste, and the chunky bits of flesh that had once been a part of something greater. None of that moved her. None of it registered as anything other than the sum of its stimuli. Shepard looked out at the death, damage, and burning wreckage that she had created without seeing any of it. This was not, as one might be inclined to think, a response born from a lack of feeling, but rather something more closely aligned with the opposite.

"_H-Hgnh…..hrurrkh…"_

The most immediate sensation was exposure. She felt naked, vulnerable, like her entire body was an open wound in danger of being probed. It was a painfully intense sensation, but then there was no kind way of learning that one was a monster, no easy response to the sudden dissolution of one's identity. It had taken just a single hour to peel back every flimsy layer of civility and human decency she possessed to reveal a bleak and murderous thing lurking beneath. One hour to learn that her self-image was more of a self-deception. It should have been horrifying, but it was hard to hate something that felt this good.

"…_hhhrrggk…hrrg…hnnh…."_

And it felt good. So good that Shepard knew she could not turn back from here. There was no way she could ever be a school teacher, or a lawyer, or take any other path through life; not when she could feel a torrent of black, hateful pleasure bubbling up from between the cracks of her fragmented self. She was like that burning car in the middle of the courtyard, a broken shell giving way to something greater. Every chaotic second of the fight had been more fulfilling than the last. This was what she was meant to do. No, this was what she absolutely needed to—

"…_Rrruuurrrugghhhkkkkk…."_

Shepard released an irritable sigh before glancing over at the batarian that lay several meters to her left. "Keep it down, yeah? I'm working my way through some serious introspection over here."

The batarian released another gargling moan and his body underwent a single convulsion. He was already dead but had not quite resigned himself to the fact. By looks alone, she guessed he had been far too close to one of the bombs when it went off. Burns covered most of his exposed skin to leave him looking like a patchwork of grey, black, and shiny pink flesh. His right arm now ended just above the elbow, a yellow nub of broken bone jutted out from the end of the stump like the tip of an iceberg. Shrapnel and heat had practically flayed the majority of his torso, but his head was the real nightmare. The two eyes on the right side of his face were melted away, streams of vitreous fluid now ran down his cheek to mingle with the blood dripping from his nostrils and ruptured eardrums. Batarian blood was a very dark red, and a trickle of the thick liquid was spilling past his parted lips and down over the point of his chin.

He lay on his belly but kept making an effort to prop himself up onto his side. Even though he probably couldn't hear a word she said, he still gazed up at her with his remaining eyes and stretched out his left arm as if hoping she would help him off the ground. All of his fingers save for the index had been torn away by the explosion, turning the plaintive gesture into an accusation. "_Rrrhhk…_Wa…wa-water."

Shepard stared back at him with disinterest. Her own mouth was gummy, dry, and rendered sour from the heartburn that came from mixing scotch and physical activity. She could still taste the brackish flavor of blood from when her teeth had sliced into her cheek, and after idly exploring the ridge of shallow cuts with the tip of her tongue, she raised one shoulder in a shrug. "I don't have any water."

The batarian shook with another violent convulsion and sagged back down into the snow. Harsh, high-pitched breaths whistled from his lungs as he made a visible effort to refocus on her. "…M-Muh…muh….Mur…_Mercy_?"

She laughed softly, a breathy exclamation that turned to steam when it struck the cold air. "Shit, today is just not your day."

He continued to stare up at her for a while longer, but then his eyes closed and he slumped back down on his front, the soft pants of his breath being the only indication that he still lived. Shepard shifted her attention away from his incipient corpse. The kind thing to do would be to put a bullet in his skull, but she wasn't feeling kind. As far as she was concerned, he had made his bed when he joined up with a pirate crew and now he could die in it.

She settled back on the tire before readjusting her hold on the hunting rifle. She was going to have to admit that she had been wrong about the damn thing. Sure, it was still pretentious and wildly unsuited for modern warfare, but when an overload mine had wiped out every electronic system in her SMG, this silly rifle had been able to function without any problems. Her newfound respect for the old-fashioned weapon did not extend into sentimentality. She only had three rounds of ammunition left for it, so she would have to find something else if she planned on winning any more fights in the future.

And she intended to win fights. Lots and lots of fights.

She knew that she should be up and attending to her many responsibilities. Checking up on Cass would be the first thing. The park ranger had been teetering on the brink of a nervous breakdown when Shepard had last seen her, and the explosions and subsequent gunfire had probably done little to ease her state of mind. On top of that, Shepard was going to have to deal with the civilians and try to find some way to evacuate them safely. She really was not looking forward to meeting with them, not only because she actively disliked them as a group, but also because she didn't think she was ready to interact with another person just yet. She needed time to pull to herself together and conceal the thing she had become.

With laborious care, she pushed herself to her feet and winced as her ribs flared with pain. Now that everything had slowed down, her wounds were taking the opportunity to remind her that she was an idiot. That first batarian back in the lodge accounted for most of them, but she had managed to dislocate a shoulder after an ill-advised biotic maneuver. Most every part of her ached in some fashion, but cuts on her face deserved special mention. They were painful enough to begin with, and all of the blood had now dried to leave her face feeling stiff and itchy. It might not sound like much in comparison to that batarian at her feet, but it sure as hell was not—

Wait. It wasn't quiet anymore.

Her entire body went rigid as her ears picked up a faint, warbling hum like a thin sheet of metal that was being jostled and flapped. It was the sound of an ion engine, a fairly big one at that.

Somebody else was coming.

Shepard forgot about her injuries as she ditched the hunting rifle and started sprinting across the battlefield. She did not have time to think about fancy tricks or deceptions. She just needed to find some firepower and a defensible position before more batarians landed at the resort. The AA guns might be enough to hold off whatever ship was coming, but then again, those turrets were meant to repel light aircraft and nothing much besides. Now that the snow had cleared, the pirates would start invading in earnest. It would not be a surprise if they showed up with a gunship this time around.

She wove her way between corpses and debris, disdaining the discarded weapons that lay scattered about. All of them were small-arms and she needed something with a bit more power, something like an antipersonnel grenade launcher that had caused her plenty of hardship no less than twenty minutes prior. She found it lying next to its former owner, a stocky batarian sporting a bullet hole just below his clavicle. The weapon itself looked like someone had shoved a circular serving plate on top of a regular rifle. Shepard activated the weapon's display and checked the ammo feed only to learn that batarian pirates apparently use a batarian number system. The display rather cheerfully announced that there were exactly _**§ʫ**_ rounds left in the weapon.

She nodded to herself. "And that's super helpful."

The thrum of the ion engine grew was much louder now. Deciding that she would just have to hope for the best, Shepard scrambled behind a large, four-door flyer and pressed herself flush up against the thrust vane. She would not have the element of surprise this time around, not with the courtyard looking like a charnel pit, but she could still strike fast and with overwhelming force. Their guard might be up, but it was awfully hard to guard against a grenade to the face.

A sharp and awful anticipation swelled in her breast as she heard the scream of a banking thruster. There was an underlying sound as well, a higher-pitched whine that almost seemed to be coming from a second source. Confused, she inched her head up until she was just peeking up over the hood of the flyer.

She understood immediately. It was not a single aircraft approaching her position, but three. They were still several hundred meters out, the blue glow of their thrusters like bobbing marshlights against the murky backdrop of the overcast sky. One of the flyers was larger than the other with an additional bank of thrusters beyond the ordinary two. Shepard didn't recognize the model type, but the smaller flyers appeared to be low-orbit landing craft. They were approaching at a steady pace, flying in a loose formation so that the landers were escorting the larger vehicle. Something about this wasn't quite right, and it took her several long seconds to put her finger on it: the AA guns weren't firing.

Those aircraft were well within range and yet the three flak turrets were silent. They were programmed to fire at anything that wasn't broadcasting an Alliance SID, and there was no way in hell that a bunch of pirates had managed to gain control of the planetary defense grid in under twelve hours. There was a slim chance that some type of major sabotage had occurred without her knowledge, but Shepard was more inclined to put her faith in a simpler explanation. Common sense would dictate that the turrets weren't firing because those flyers _were _broadcasting Alliance SID's.

She rose from her crouch and stepped out into the open. Now that she took a moment to slow down and really look, she was mostly surprised that she had not immediately recognized the distinctive shape of the two Kodiak drop shuttles. Clearly, what she had taken for a second assault was actually a goddamn rescue.

And that scared the living hell out of her.

The first thought that crossed her mind was that there was she was not ready. If someone were to look into her eyes right now, Shepard did not even want to guess at what they might see. She was an aberration and not the kind that would be accepted. The military wanted to field soldiers, not bloodthirsty killers. If someone figured out what was running through her head, she'd be looking at a long psych-eval that would most likely end with her being discharged from the service. That was unacceptable.

Shepard gave a single, sharp shake of her head as she looked up at the approaching aircraft. Her only option was to hide. She had spent the better part of her life keeping secrets, there was no reason she couldn't go on doing the same. Straightening up to her full height, she squared her shoulders and set about the impossible task of making herself right. Wrestling that snarling demon back into the depths of her soul was like trying to stop a volcano from erupting. There was no way for her to simply deny this new aspect of herself. No chance of casting it aside or ignoring it like the illegitimate child of her subconscious. It had taken root in her and she would not have been able to sever it even if she felt the desire to do so.

Instead, she would live with it. If there was one thing she was good at, it was enduring.

Her eyes closed and she started taking deep, even breaths until her heart rate began to slow and her muscles stopped trembling. She focused on that internal rhythm and she began to lock down her emotions and mentally distance herself from what she feeling. The best she could hope for was to insulate. A shell of unfeeling armor would protect her from the world, or perhaps it would be the other way around. Regardless, she needed to find composure, and composure was born of control.

_Control. Control. Control._

The mantra passed through her head and she latched onto it like a drowning woman. By the time the flyers dropped in for a landing, Shepard was most of the way there. Her face was free of expression and her posture had relaxed into an easy degree of alertness. The darkness inside of her was still very much alive, but the shutters were drawn and it was locked in the attic.

The two Kodiaks landed first, the side doors flying open before the shuttles had even touched down. Three squads of Alliance soldiers, some fifteen men in total, fanned out from the vehicles to secure a LZ that showed every sign of being hot. Shepard made no sign to conceal herself and they treated her as a possible threat. Her hands itched in response to having over a dozen guns pointed in her direction, but she forced herself to keep the grenade launcher lowered at her side. Although these marines were moving like a disciplined force, a planetary attack was bound to make people tense and the last thing she wanted was to be lit up for making a sudden move.

Shepard waited patiently as the marines hurriedly swept through the battlefield and spread out around her. Most of them took cover where they could find it, but a small group of five kept advancing until they were only a few dozen meters from where she stood. They all wore hardsuits, the polished plates of blue and white armor encasing each marine like a ceramic carapace. One of them, shorter than the others, took a few more steps in Shepard's direction before calling out a challenge. "Identify yourself."

The majority of the speaker's face was concealed behind the blast visor of her helmet, but her voice was definitely female. Glancing at the rank insignia inscribed on the newcomer's armor, Shepard responded with her designation. "Lieutenant Sían Shepard of the 327th, currently stationed on _The Euphrates _under Captain Margos. You can tell your men to stand down, sergeant, the area is secure."

The marine hesitated, clearly taken aback at finding an officer in the middle of ski resort. Signaling for her men to fall in, she closed the distance between them and offered Shepard a quick salute. "Sergeant Elena Pierce, ma'am, of the 503. We've got a medic with us if anyone under your command needs attention."

"'Appreciate that, but I don't have anyone under my command."

Sergeant Pierce removed her helmet to reveal a messy bob of blond hair. Setting it down on a hunk of twisted metal, she gave Shepard a searching look. She had youthful features: a button nose and rosy cheeks that made her look like a young teenager playing at being a soldier. Her dark blue eyes provided a nice counterpoint to the soft image. There was a hint of steely hardness to them that suggested that she wasn't the type to take shit for any reason. "You're alone here, ma'am?"

"Not entirely, I've got some two hundred civilians taking cover in the town, and there's a terrified park ranger hiding somewhere hereabouts." Shepard looked over Pierce's shoulder to watch as the third aircraft finally touched down. It was a public transit vehicle, one of the large transports that serviced commuters on most of the developed worlds. "I take it you and your men are doing emergency evac?"

Pierce nodded. "We're hitting as many of the minor settlements as we can. This place was pretty far down on our list, but then we received reports of explosions and decided to prioritize."

The other marines had closed in by now and stood about them in a loose semicircle. They were all staring at Shepard, which wasn't so unusual given the circumstances and her general appearance, but it still made her feel antsy. A tall marine armed with a heavy machine gun idly kicked at one of the batarian corpses before looking at her. "You killed all these four-eyed bastards by yourself? Hell, I don't know if that's sexy or—"

"Randerson, you are addressing an officer!" Pierce's voice cracked through the air like an oiled whip as she rounded on the soldier who had spoken. "Mind yourself or I will personally stomp the shit out of you."

The soldier must have had ten kilos on his NCO, but he flinched and immediately came to attention. "Apologies, ma'am, I meant no offense."

His words were directed at Shepard, but she remained silent, content to let the sergeant handle the issue. After glaring at the soldier for a moment, Peirce turned back to Shepard. "You'll have to forgive us, ma'am. It's been a rough day. We're all a little raw."

"Understandable." Shepard accepted the apology without inflection. After everything she had been through today, it was not hard to imagine forgetting protocol by accident. It did not matter in any case, and she changed the subject to something more pertinent. "I'm here on leave and comms have been down since the attack, so I have next to no intel. Who is in command of operations?"

The soldiers traded a round of significant glances that struck her as ominous. Sergeant Pierce gave the matter more thought then should have been necessary before responding. "Colonel Ty was the highest ranking officer planetside when the attack came down. He died in the preliminary bombing of Grecian City along with Major Nguyen and thirteen other officers who were attending a retreat. That's most of our command structure gone."

Shepard frowned at her. "There has to be more than fifteen officers on the planet."

"There are, but they belong to the Police Coalition or the Planetary Defense Force. Elysium is largely independent of Alliance protection outside of the defense network." Pierce folded her arms and turned a sour look in the direction of the ski lodge. "Apparently, the local government was afraid that a visible military presence would scare off non-human tourism. As a result, we've got about three hundred marines on the planet, most of whom were on leave as well, ma'am."

That was bad news. Shepard had been hoping to get in contact with a superior officer and receive orders. Realizing that she still hadn't gotten an answer to her question, she repeated it. "Who is in command right now?"

"There's a captain over at Jericho, but he's a desk officer and from what I heard, he took to hiding in a bathroom and shouting that this wasn't his responsibility. A group of NCOs relieved him of command about four hours ago." The sergeant sucked in a long breath through her teeth and gave Shepard a sympathetic look. "Ma'am, as far I know, you are the senior Alliance officer on Elysium."

Hearing that nearly undid all the work that Shepard had done to forge her composure. It had to be a joke. There was no way a lieutenant with a two-week-old commission could be in charge of ground operations on a besieged planet. She had led a squad during several exercises in N6, but that was a far cry from directing several hundred men against an organized enemy. Her gut instinct was to find a bathroom of her own and start gibbering. Only the knowledge that she was being watched kept her from doing exactly that. These men would be taking her orders. She couldn't afford to let them see her uncertain.

Clearing her throat, she decided to start by addressing the obvious. "We need to get started on the evacuation. If you were alerted by the explosions there is a good chance the batarians also took notice. Send one of your squads into town and look for a grey building with a green roof. Most of the civilians are in the basement. Have the rest your men set up a perimeter in case of a second assault, but get two of them to start checking these flyers to see which ones are capable of getting airborne. This evac has to go quick and we'll need the space."

They were literally the first orders she had ever given and she took conscious effort to sound more confident than she felt. It would not have surprised her if they didn't accept her command. She was young, wounded, and out of uniform. Even so, she was the officer here, and she gave Sergeant Pierce an expectant look as though obedience was a guaranteed outcome.

To her immense relief, Pierce did not even hesitate. "You heard the Lieutenant. Randerson, take first squad and head to the tower; the rest of you secure the town. Mackey, you and Freeman can start checking the vehicles. C'mon people, let's get the civvies out."

The soldiers set to their respective tasks without protest. They were moving with the easy confidence of professional soldiers and Shepard had a feeling that she was least experienced one here. Sergeant Pierce hung back as her men filed out, and as soon as the two of them were in relative privacy, she stepped closer and lowered her voice so that there was no chance of it carrying. "Do you need a medic, ma'am? You look like you've been through hell."

"None of it is as serious as it looks." Shepard relaxed fractionally, pleased that Pierce had taken an effort to be circumspect. She did not want to appear weak in any fashion, not when her authority was tenuous and the situation uncertain. Trying to think of a way to articulate her gratitude while still maintaining the separation between their ranks, she made an awkward gesture in direction of the retreating marines. "I, uh, appreciate your support, sergeant."

Pierce's severe expression eased into a faint smile. She was older than Shepard had first suspected, easily thirty and likely closing on forty. Modern medicine and an increased human life expectancy made it hard to gauge ages these days. People were living a good fifty years longer than they had a century ago, and most still looked thirty by the time they hit seventy. Pierce had an old smile, however. It was knowing, a little wry, and it brought out a few lines around her eyes and mouth. "Discipline is important, ma'am, especially given the current situation. I also don't think it's generally a good idea to start mouthing off to someone who's covered in blood and holding a grenade launcher."

Shepard glanced down at her weapon and gave a short laugh. It was more of an expression of relief than of amusement, but there comfortable normalcy to taking pleasure in something as mundane as a joke. "That's pretty solid advice."

The sergeant held her smile for a few seconds before falling back to a more serious expression. "Do you plan to assume command?"

"At least until someone on a higher pay grade tells me to do different." Shepard shrugged to disguise her discomfort at the idea. "It's my responsibility and what other choice do I have? Yield command to the Police Coalition? Command would have my head just for setting that kind of precedent."

"True enough, and the PDF is a glorified militia filled with washouts and assholes pretending to be soldiers." Pierce said this without rancor, her frank tone suggesting that she was expressing an inalienable truth rather than an opinion. "I don't envy you, ma'am."

"No kidding." She breathed out heavily and felt a twinge in her injured ribs. Her shoulder was starting to protest the strain of supporting the weight of the grenade launcher. Crossing over to a nearby car, she set the bulky weapon down on the rim of a thruster well and turned back to Pierce. "I could use some more information about the planet. I know nothing about Elysium."

"There are two inhabited continents, named Menander and Euripides respectively. We're on Menander, which is larger and has four major population centers including the capital city Jericho. There are roughly forty smaller settlements like this resort town spread over the continent." Pierce gave the information in a clipped tone of someone used to being debriefed. "First strike bombing raids devastated two of the three cities on Euripides before defenses went online. Most of the fighting is going on over there, but our guys are on the back foot and it looks as though the entire continent is ready to surrender. We evacuated a good portion of the civilian population, but once the batarians come over here, we aren't going to have anywhere else to send them."

Shepard cocked a brow. "It looks to me like the batarians are already here."

"We've had a few reports of raiding parties like this one, and several of our units have engaged, but for now, the attack is mostly focused on the other continent."

"And the orbital defenses?"

"Two of the gun platforms were destroyed by the pirate fleet. From what I can tell, they went down hard and now the batarians are actively evading contact with the remaining eight."

That was one piece of good news. Attacking civilians and claiming ground was all well and good, but the trick to sieging a planet was controlling the local space. So long as those guns were active, the batarians couldn't hang in orbit and bombard Elysium's cities. It would also make it much harder for them to transport troops to the planet's surface. Shepard considered that for a moment before asking another question. "Do we know if a signal got through to Alliance space?"

"Barely. We managed to relay the distress call to the frigate _Agincourt_. It's the only military warship in the system, and it sounds like they were able to pass it along to Command." Pierce glanced upwards as if she could see the starship up in orbit. "_The Agincourt_ is returning to Elysium. The captain plans to engage the pirate fleet."

"By himself?" Shepard didn't bother to cover her surprise. Most captains would never risk their ships in such an uneven fight. "That'll be interesting."

"Our ships are light-years ahead of batarian models, so he might be able to do some heavy damage if he's any good." Pierce gave a judicious nod before turning a shrewd look Shepard's direction. "If you don't mind my asking, ma'am, what do you intend to do?"

The question, although asked in a respectful manner, was a test. It seemed like Pierce was trying to gauge her handle on the situation. Running a hand over the short strands of her blood-encrusted hair, she blew out a breath and tried to think critically. "Alliance HQ is located at the capitol, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then we consolidate there. I want all active marines to gather at the major cities and lock them down. We can spare a fraction to continue evacuation efforts, but our primary concern is protecting the defense grid." Shepard took a steadying breath as she convinced herself that it was the right course of action. "Elysium is about two days travel from the Mass Relay, so we can optimistically expect reinforcements in four. Saving the planet is a matter of keeping those AA and orbital defenses online until then."

"We're going to lose some civilians if we cut back on evacuation efforts."

"Better that than lose the entire planet." It was a harsh sentiment that was made easier by the fact that Shepard did not particularly care about the civilians. She certainly didn't want them to die, but her focus was on preserving Elysium as a whole. "Standing orders in an emergency situation are to defend Alliance space, so that's what will do. We'll get word to the PDF and have them do the same. They probably have bigger guns then we do and this will be a lot easier if we're all working together."

Pierce made a soft sound of consideration. "If you send them an order, the only word they are going to see is 'Lieutenant'."

"And if they have a problem with that, I'll send them a second order containing the words 'treason' and 'capital offense'. Let's see what they do then."

The sergeant let out a short laugh. "I would honestly pay to see that, ma'am. I'll send out a general order letting the other NCOs know that you've assumed command."

"Thank you, sergeant." She paused and then offered Pierce a nod. "And if you have any opinions on how we should proceed, I will take them under advisement."

It was a careful way of asking for help, but she did not regret doing so. The sergeant probably had five times as much experience as she did and Shepard would have been foolish to discount that. Luckily, Pierce seemed to understand where she was coming from, because the sergeant immediately nodded. "We're all in this together, ma'am. These are good men and—"

"_Rrrrrrghhhkkkkk….."_

"Christ!" Sergeant Pierce's rifle was off her hardsuit's magnetic mount and in her hands in the span of a second. She whirled around to confront the sudden noise, but Shepard could have told her not to bother. That half-dead batarian from earlier was awake and pursuing his unfortunate tendency toward causing a ruckus. Pierce kept her weapon trained on him as she crossed over to where he lay. "Ah hell, this one is still alive!"

Shepard peered at the twitching alien mutely. She had not realized that they were standing so close to where she had left him. The amazing thing was that hypothermia hadn't yet killed him considering how much of his innards were exposed to the air. Sergeant Pierce gazed down at him with revulsion for a moment before shooting a glance back at Shepard. "No way this one'll make it."

There was a question in that statement and Shepard answered it. "Not without eating up time and medical supplies."

The sergeant nodded smoothly and raised her rifle. She put two rounds through the batarian's skull with a kind of detached professionalism that Shepard observed and made a note to emulate. That was how a soldier responded to violence. In the future, people would look at her and see the same.

Pierce lowered the rifle and shrugged as if in explanation. "Kind thing to do."

"Yes, it was."

A few of the marines had started back at the sound of gunfire, but Pierce waved them off with a dismissive gesture. She then sighed and walked away from the batarian she had shot. "I've got a comm link in my hardsuit. If I can find a terminal somewhere in town, I can probably boost the signal enough to start relaying your orders. Sabotage took out most of the SAT network, but the military hardware is still solid."

"That would be good. I'm going to take a minute to get my bearings, but if you want to start looking, I'll join you soon."

"Yes, ma'am."

Pierce saluted and started toward the lodge. She hadn't gotten more than a few steps before something occurred to Shepard. "Oh, one more thing, sergeant?"

The other woman stopped in place. "Ma'am?"

"When you go inside, you're going to find a really dead batarian. There was a messy situation and things got bad." Shepard made a helpless gesture with one hand as a small concession to the oddity of her words. "I just thought I'd give you some warning."

It was hard to tell whether Pierce was feeling curious or concerned by that statement, but she did hold Shepard's gaze for a moment before acknowledging it. "I keep it in mind, ma'am."

Snow crunched under Pierce's boots as she started walking once again. Breathing out harshly, Shepard moved to lean her weight against the side of a nearby flyer. A trickle of wet warmth along her side told her that the wounds on her ribs had reopened. She should have taken the offer for medical treatment. The marines would hardly be impressed if she ended up fainting from blood loss.

A commotion off to the right drew her attention. From out behind the lodge, a crowd of people were approaching in a clustered column. The marines had evidently discovered the hiding civilians and were in the process of bringing them out into the open for evacuation. Most of them were humans, but there were a scattering of Turians and Asari among them. All of them possessed a furtive, harassed appearance as if they had been fighting for their lives instead of hiding beneath the blankets.

Cowards.

Shepard started to turn away, but then she recognized Park Ranger Cassandra Lengum at the forefront of the group. She had a haunted look on her face that spoke of the early stages of shock, and when she looked out over the battlefield, her eyes immediately landed on Shepard. Lifting a hand in greeting, Shepard tried to make herself smile. She must not have done a very good job, because Cass visibly shuddered and looked away.

Frowning, Shepard lowered her hand and watched as the procession of civilians headed for the transit bus. Cass had seen everything up in the observation tower and it clearly had not agreed with her. Either that, or Shepard really needed to think about getting cleaned up before dealing with any more civilians.

"Ma'am?"

Shepard blinked and turned to face the marine who had spoken. He was taller than her with the characteristic slenderness of those raised in low gravity. It seemed like he was waiting for something, but she had no idea what. "Yes? What is it?"

"My name is Greggs, ma'am. The Sarge sent me over to help you with this." He held up a medigel applicator by way of explanation. "I'm not a medic, but I can work one of these things like the best of them."

Shepard looked over toward the lodge, but Pierce had already disappeared inside. Deciding that she needed to treat her injuries at some point, she gave the marine a short nod. "I can take care of most of it on my own, but I'd appreciate it if you could help me with my face. It would be easier than finding a mirror."

"Yes, ma'am, just give me a moment to get it ready." He adjusted something on the gun-shaped applicator and jerked his chin toward her. "Wanna light?"

Shepard blinked. "Sorry?"

"A light." He pointed down at her hand. "For your smoke."'

She looked down to find that she was still holding a cigarette clasped between the index and middle fingers of her left hand. In light of everything that had happened, she had somehow forgotten that she was holding onto it. Bringing it up to study it better, she saw that it had gotten a little crumpled from rough treatment.

Shepard wanted it.

She wanted it bad enough that she could almost taste that rich texture of the smoke as it streamed across her tongue. It would help to steady her nerves. It would calm some of the tempest inside of her and help her get focus. Everything about it would be magical; the smell, the taste, the simple ritual of smoking that was comfortable in its familiarity. Shepard wanted it so badly that she could barely imagine going on without it.

And perhaps that was the problem.

Her gaze snapped over to the batarian that Pierce had killed. It struck her then that poor impulse control could have more consequences than she might have thought. Even now, with her head starting to ache with the beginnings of a hangover, part of her wanted a drink, part of her wanted a smoke, and every bit of her wanted to feel that psychotic excitement that came from violence.

_Control, control, control…._

Shepard took the cigarette and carefully stowed it in the pocket of her jacket. Motioning for the marine to start working on her face, she offered him a fake smile. "Thanks, but I just quit."

...

* * *

Okay, so the next chapter will bring the story up to the beginning of the first game. It's practically written, so I will cautiously say that it will be out much sooner than this one. Thanks so much for all the feedback everyone, it really helps me to get an idea of what is working or not. Btw, if anyone is curious, Sían is a Welsh name and is pronounced like "Sean".

Thanks for reading!


	4. Intermission: A Single Conversation

Intermission: A Single Conversation

~0~

* * *

...

"_Well, what about Shepard? She's a colonist…but no record of which planet, just a notation and the name of her Basic Training Facility."_

"_Her recruitment information was sealed. That's done at the recruitment officer's prerogative. In most cases, it's to keep the recruit safe from something or someone."_

"_Nothing sinister about that, I'm sure."_

"_We don't recruit just anyone, Ambassador. She proved herself during the Blitz. Took command of three separate divisions and held off enemy ground forces until reinforcements arrived."_

"_No one is questioning her courage, Captain. Shepard is a hero and we can certainly use that. I simply think that we should try to look beyond her past victories. Her personnel file is largely impressive, but it is not perfect."_

"_Meaning?"_

"_Two citations and a summary punishment detail for drinking off-duty, one official reprimand for perceived insubordination, an unproven assault allegation…"_

"_All of which were reported and subsequently dealt with several years ago. She was a young marine fresh out of basic. We've all been there, gentleman, or at least, most of us have."_

"_And her psyche reports?"_

"_What about them?"_

"_One of her evaluators said that she is a sociopath."_

"_I read those reports, Ambassador, and they said nothing of the sort."_

"_I quote: …1__st__ Lieutenant Sían Shepard is uncooperative and demonstrates aggressive behavior and a diminished emotional response to violence…" _

"_We're looking for a soldier, not a babysitter. Those qualities don't make her a sociopath and her two subsequent evaluators describe her as friendly and well-adjusted."_

"_Maybe she learned how to answer questions."_

"_Or maybe she was a young woman who experienced hell and needed a few months to work her way through it. I've served with Shepard. She's not the easiest woman to get a handle on, but she's one the most effective and intuitive soldiers I've met. If you are looking for someone who will get you results, you don't need to look any further."_

"_Perhaps…I just wonder if this is the type of person we want protecting the galaxy."_

"_Honestly, Ambassador, this is the only type of person who can."_

_...  
_


	5. Chapter 4: New Beginnings

Chapter 4: New Beginnings

~0~

* * *

xxXxx

**…**

_Athena Nebula. Tomaros System. The Rayya. Nearest Celestial Body: Lusia_

_2183 CE, Span of Keptcha, 3__rd _

_GST: 19:18, Shipboard Evening Cycle._

**…**

Tali held the twenty-third motion of the _Rae'Laseelah_ until the muscles in her calves began to tremble and she had no choice but to drop into the twenty-forth.

She dipped backwards, bending her spine in an arch until she could place her palm against the metal deck of the antechamber and lever herself into a handstand. Keeping one of her legs fully extended and pointed toward the ceiling, she lowered the other to form a right angle. The position was murderous to maintain, and it took all of her concentration to avoid making even the slightest of movements. This dance was an exercise in contradictions; a physical philosophy centered on attaining fluid inflexibility. The dancer had to be strong enough to hold their ground while simultaneously accounting for the minute changes inherent in drawing breath and maintaining balance. The Warrior's Repose could be performed quickly if one so chose, but Tali was taking her time and placing emphasis on the isometric exercise.

Her forearm muscles began to burn and she knew it would not be long before she overbalanced. If she was trying to really push herself, she might have held the pose longer, but that wasn't her goal today. Twisting her hips, she swung her legs for balance and used her own momentum to guide her body through a smooth spin as she rapidly lowered herself to a kneeling position.

When she had seen the _Rae'Laseelah _performed last cycle, the lead dancer had made that controlled fall into an effortless expression of grace. Tali went through it too quickly and her right knee touched down with more force than it should have, but overall, she was pleased. It was a difficult maneuver and she usually had more trouble with it.

She rested for the span of a few breaths before rolling forward and rising to her feet. The next part of the dance was less rigorous, a transition period that would help to loosen her muscles. Setting her feet in the twenty-sixth position, Tali began to move her arms in slow, reaching motions that were punctuated by delicate rotations of the wrist. She had once heard that the _Rae'Laseelah_ were based on an ancient form of martial arts, but she found the dance to be peaceful, a routine of moving inwards and outwards like the comforting rhythm of a pulse.

Her love of dancing was Tali's one and only secret. She had initially begun teaching herself using holovids and research materials, but three cycles ago, she had met a dance instructor who was more than willing to give her some free lessons in exchange for basic tech work. What started as an idle hobby quickly became a part of her life. It just happened to be a part that she hadn't shared with anyone else.

Not that there was any reason for her to hide it. Dancing was considered an elegant and admirable pursuit amongst quarians, and although she was nowhere near as talented as the professional performers, she had gotten rather good thanks to long hours of practice. Nor did she truly think her father would disapprove. While he usually made a point of praising her work ethic, he also tended to support her choices even when they did not perfectly align with his expectations.

Really, when it came down to it, Tali just liked having something that belonged to her alone.

A soft chirp arose from her inactive omnitool. She paused in midstep and felt a nervous flutter in her chest. Only five minutes left until the ceremony began…

Breathing deeply, she forced herself to continue even though what she was doing was technically inappropriate. The three hours of privacy that prefaced the Departure Ceremony were intended to be spent in quiet meditation. It was a time for reflection, a chance to look back at one's life in the Flotilla and to consider the many possibilities that the future might hold. Tali knew that she was expected to find a correct mindset for what was to come, but that seemed redundant as she had spent the last several spans doing nothing_ except_ thinking about her Pilgrimage.

Besides, she had never been very good at sitting still, and dancing helped her relax more than quiet meditation ever could.

She went through one final motion and finished with her legs close together and her arms outspread. After holding the pose for a moment, she lowered her arms and finally let herself relax. There was a great deal more of the dance left to perform, but there was not enough time and she thought it would be poor manners to show up to her own ceremony out of breath. Activating her omnitool, she lowered her suit's temperature by several degrees and shivered when she felt the fabric begin to cool against her skin.

Crossing over to the room's window, Tali pressed the palm of her hand against the glass and stared out at the Athena Nebula. In a physical sense, she felt good. Her muscles were warm and loose from the recent exercise and her body had finally compensated for having the implants installed. Now that they were bolstering her immune system, she was arguably healthier than she had ever been before, but the cost had been nearly two spans of consistent illness as her body acclimated to the changes.

Emotionally, she was a wreck. She finally understood what Kal'Reegar and some of her older friends had been talking about when they said the Pilgrimage produces mixed feelings. On one hand, she was excited to get out into the larger galaxy. She wanted to talk with an asari, exchange ideas with a salarian, and possibly try some of those turian dishes that had acquired a near-legendary status within the Flotilla. At the same time, she was so very frightened. She had spent her life surrounded by other quarians. To think that she would soon be alone seized her with loneliness and trepidation. It was strange, but she somehow wanted to leave and stay in equal measure.

The console attached to the room's door buzzed to life and a woman's voice came through the speaker. "Tali? Are you there, _maelon_?"

Jumping slightly at the noise, Tali smiled as she heard aunt's favorite term of endearment. Hurrying over to the door, she touched the console and released the lock.

Admiral Shala'Raan stood on the other side, her eyes winking brightly behind her visor. She was not actually related to the Zorah family, but she had been a close friend of Tali's mother since long before Tali was born. In fact, she had been present on the day of Tali's birth and had even helped with the delivery. Just seeing her honorary aunt made Tali feel better, and when Shala spread her arms, Tali all but lunged forward to accept the hug. "Auntie Raan! Father said he wasn't sure if you could make it!"

"It would take a lot more than a few disgruntled captains in an allocations dispute to make me miss your Departure, Tali." Shala'Raan squeezed her tightly before pushing Tali back to study her at arm's length. "Ancestors beyond, just look at you! I swear you become more beautiful each time I visit."

Tali dipped her helmet, blushing in pleasure. "I'm so glad you're here, Shala. I would have felt awful I left without saying goodbye in person."

"Then it's good that I came, today should be a happy one." Her aunt plucked at Tali's suit wrappings, fussing with the fabric until it was arranged to her liking. "How are you? Has the immune response passed?" A sharp edge of urgency entered Shala'Raan's voice as though she had been struck by a sudden fear. "Oh, do you have everything settled? You know it's bad luck to leave a matter unresolved before Pilgrimage."

The questions came in such rapid succession that Tali decided to just answer the last one. "Yes, I do, or at least, I think I do." She paused, uncertain of whether it was immature to voice her concerns about the Pilgrimage. If it was anyone except her aunt, she might have remained silent. "It's just that I'm…well, I'm terrified."

Shala'Raan laughed and grasped her forearms in a warm grip. "Oh, Tali, everyone who goes on Pilgrimage is terrified. Some of the prospective marines might pretend to be tough as bulkheads, but I guarantee you they are shaking on the inside."

"Really?"

"Really." An unseen smile colored her aunt's tone. "A little fear is a good thing. The Pilgrimage is about growing as a person, and that kind of development can't happen if you spend your life pursuing only what is safe and familiar."

Tali took a deep breath in an effort to dispel the painful knot that had formed in her chest. It felt good just to give her worries a voice. "I don't suppose it's also normal that I don't have the faintest idea of what I'm going to do once I'm out there?"

"Completely normal, and there's no way for anyone to tell you what you _should_ be doing because that's something you must discover for yourself." Shala'Raan gave Tali's arms a firm squeeze and touched their visors together. "I have every confidence that you'll find your way back to us, Tali. You are brilliant, talented, and if your mother could see you now, I know she would be the proudest woman in the Fleet."

A lump formed in Tali's throat for an entirely different reason. Her eyes prickled with a sting of tears, and there was a faint fluttering along her cheeks as her suit collected the excess moisture. "Thank you, Shala."

"You're welcome, Tali'Zorah." Her aunt released her arms before moving to pull a sealed pouch off of her suit's belt. Pressing it in Tali's hands, Shala'Raan curled her fingers around the leather of the satchel. "Your father and I worked together on your Pilgrimage gift. You have to promise me that you won't open it until you've boarded the shuttle. I don't want you to get lost in it right before your ceremony."

Tali sniffed and clasped the gift to her chest. "I promise, but you didn't have to do this, Shala."

"I certainly did, _maelon_." Her aunt placed a hand on Tali's shoulder and steered her toward the door. "Come then, people are waiting to see you off."

Allowing herself to be led along, Tali fastened the gift to her suit's webbing as they walked. The two of them passed through the empty hallway leading toward the 3rd departure bay in silence, though Shala'Raan kept her hand linked with Tali's. Taking comfort from her aunt's presence, Tali straightened up and tried to look older and more mature than she felt.

Marines weren't the only ones who could pretend to be tough. Tali made a promise to herself that she would keep her composure.

Her aunt drew back when they reached the door to the departure bay and looked back her. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, I think I am."

Shala'Raan took her hand off of Tali's shoulder and activated the doors. The moment they slid open, a rumble of applause flowed forth from beyond.

Hunching her shoulders, Tali stepped through the doors to be greeted by the sight of some forty quarians waiting for her. The applause grew louder and it took everything she had to keep herself from fidgeting under the scrutiny. It seemed like everyone she knew was here. Some of her friends from the Engineering SPEC were near the front, and she gave them a little wave of her hand.

The departure bay was a large area with a ceiling that canted in towards the starboard side of _The Raaya_. Though it was a functional room, someone had gone to the trouble of hanging cloth banners along the walls and setting up several illuminators whose golden light was much softer than the usual fluorescents. Her father stood waiting for her on top of a dais that had been erected at the far end of the room, and directly behind him was the transit shuttle that would take her from the Flotilla.

She hadn't realized that she had stopped walking until she felt Shala'Raan's hand on her back urging her onwards. Almost darting forward in automatic overcompensation, Tali felt her cheeks burn and adopted a more dignified speed as she made her way through the crowd. Several people placed encouraging hands on her arms and shoulders as she went, but Tali was too nervous to really acknowledge the support. Murmuring half-formed words of thanks, she walked dazedly up to stand before the dais.

Her father inclined his head in her direction before raising his hands for quiet. The applause died off and as soon as the room was silent, her father intoned the traditional words of Departure. "Brothers and Sisters, today we release one of our daughters so that she may find herself among the stars. Though we lose a cherished member of our people, today is not for sadness. Instead, let us celebrate her opportunity, wish her success in her travels, and pray for her safe return. Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, may the currents of time and experience bring you to wisdom, and in doing so, benefit us all."

Tali stood rigid as the applause returned in the wake of her father's words. The Departure Ceremony was a simple affair lacking the feasts and speeches that her Reception Ceremony would bring, but she still felt the weight of the traditional words. It reminded her that the Pilgrimage was more than a rite of passage, it was a duty.

And, for the first time in too many spans, she forgot her nervousness and felt nothing except pride.

The rest of the ceremony was personal and informal. Everyone who had gathered in the departure bay came to wish her goodbye. Her friends from Engineering approached her first, and Tali felt torn between sadness and joy as she hugged them and accepted their congratulations. Others followed after and the litany of interactions left Tali feeling dizzy. She spoke with old teachers, childhood companions, a few colleagues, and somewhat unusually, with two members of the Admiralty Board. A handful of moments stuck out in her mind: her uncle wrapping her in a bone-crushing hug, her mentor from the Tech Division bursting into tears as she tried to explain the best places to find food on the Citadel, and Flight Instructor Mal'Raneer grudgingly admitting that Tali had turned into a first-rate mechanic.

Gifts were customary during the ceremony, and as the quarian people had little to spare, each was something to be cherished. Most people gave her a small sum of credits because the Council currency was vital beyond the Flotilla's boundaries, but there were a few exceptions to the rule. One of the older engineers gave her a self-written program that could be used to hijack extranet ports (for innocent purposes only, of course), and her maternal grandparents gave her an old holophoto of her mother that very nearly prompted an embarrassing crying fit.

Kal'Reegar was one of the last. He looked very handsome in his red and white combat suit, and though he extended his arms to formally clasp her own, Tali ignored the gesture in favor of giving him a fierce hug. "Kal, thank you for coming!"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, kid." His gruff voice sounded a little gruffer than usual as he returned the embrace. Waiting until she let go, he pulled something from behind his back and held it out. "I got something for you."

She was not terribly surprised to see that it was a handgun. Taking the collapsed weapon in her hands, she examined it for a moment before giving him a teasing nudge. "Thank you, Kal, How do you always know just what to get?"

"Phenomenal intuition, and I should mention that I modded that thing like you wouldn't believe. It'll drop a charging krogan in a few shots." He adopted a serious posture and leaned in to whisper directly into her helmet's audio feed. "Keep it close but out of sight. Don't trust anybody unless they give you good reason, and make sure you stay in public. A lot of people out there would see a lone quarian girl as an easy target."

Tali nodded, recognizing that the no-nonsense advice was Kal's way of caring. "I'll be careful."

"You better be. Come back soon, kid."

He stepped away and motioned for her to go on. Tali said the last of her goodbyes before turning back to the dais where her father waited. Traditionally, the parents of the departing quarian were the last to see them off, but in place of her mother, Shala'Raan stood beside him.

In spite of her promise, she found herself getting choked up as she walked up to them. Not trusting herself with any long speeches, she simply hugged Shala and made her farewell. "Good-bye, Auntie Raan. I will miss you."

"And I you, Tali'Zorah. Safe travels and swift return, _Keelah Se'lai_."

Her father was more reserved, but that came as no surprise. When she went to stand before him, he lifted his hands and placed them on her shoulders. "Here we are, Tali."

She tried not to be disappointed by the formality in his tone. "Yes, I guess so."

"There are many things I feel like I should say, but all I can think about right now is how intensely proud I am to have you as a daughter." He tugged her forward and Tali let out a small yelp of surprise as he crushed her against his chest. Holding her tightly, he lowered his voice for privacy. "Come back safely, Tali. There's nothing in this galaxy that is more important to me than you are."

Utterly overwhelmed by her father's words, Tali could only hug him back desperately until he gently pushed her back. Clearing her throat, she managed to look him in the eye. "Goodbye, father, I'll see you soon."

Rael'Zorah held onto her for a long moment before stepping aside and motioning for her to enter the shuttle. Tradition held that the departing quarian not look back once their parents had sent them off, so she kept her locked on her destination as she began to walk forward. A chorus of farewells rose up behind her, and though tempted, she never looked back.

It was only after she had taken her seat and strapped herself in that she pulled out the gift from her father and Shala'Raan. Untying the fastening, she opened the leather pouch and drew out a small circlet of metal that immediately recognized.

An omnitool. A new omnitool.

Tali's hands trembled and she placed it back in the leather pouch. At some point, she was going to put it on and fiddle with it until her fingers were sore, but for now, she was caught between emotions and would find it difficult to take pleasure in anything.

Closing her eyes, she leaned back in her chair and waited for the shuttle to take her away from the only world that she had ever known.

…

xxXxx

…

_Apian Crest. Trebia System, Mynock Station_

_2183 CE, September, 2__nd_

_GST: 19:18_

…

"And you're sure I can't get you anything else?"

Shepard took hold of the fresh drink and gave the bartender a brief smile. "No, this will do me for now. I may want another later on."

The asari leaned her hip against the bar and set about polishing a glass. Her voice was husky and smooth all at once, like grit spread over a drape of soft cloth. "Just give me a wave when you're ready. We aren't busy tonight and you're tipping better than everyone else, so you'll get it fast."

"Thanks."

"No trouble, but do you mind clearing something up for me?" The alien pointed one blue finger at Shepard's drink and gave her a frank look. "Is this a weird human thing or just your personal brand of strange?"

Shepard chuckled. "More the latter than the former, I suspect."

"Figured that might be the case." A loud voice shouted a drink order from across the bar, but the asari ignored it entirely. She kept polishing the glass, her eyes on Shepard. "You know, not that it's any of my business, but you've got an admirer."

That was a kind way of putting it. Ever since Shepard set foot in this place, she had been on the receiving end of a great deal of attention. Taking a sip from her drink, she played dumb. "Oh yeah?"

"Over my right shoulder, sitting at the other end of the bar; he's the big turian with the red facepaint and the attitude. Don't be too obvious about looking."

Hiding a smile, Shepard made a show of looking around the bar before letting her eyes slide over in the direction the bartender had indicated. Her "admirer" sat in a group with two other turians and a salarian. He was certainly on the large side, and the glare that he sent her way was nothing short of murderous. Eye-contact was often construed as a challenge among turians, so Shepard averted her gaze casually as if she had not even noticed him. Turning back to the bartender, she could not help but grin. "He doesn't seem to like me overly much."

"Noticed that, did you?" The asari frowned as though she disapproved of Shepard's levity. "His name is Darrin Akarath and he comes from old money back on Palaven. His people have a lot of influence, and it so happens that their former patriarch was a casualty in the First Contact War."

"Not too fond of humans, then?"

"Let's call that an understatement." The asari leaned in close and lowered her voice. "Look, I'm not trying to be rude, but you do know there are other bars on this station, right?"

Shepard cocked a brow. "That sounds like it might be a hint."

"I'm just saying, there's a nice wine bar up on the third level called _Shakura's _that mostly caters to the asari consulate and some of the civilian contractors." A hint of suggestion crept into the bartender's rough voice. "We don't get many humans here, so the maidens tend to get a bit excited when they see one. If you're looking for some company, that's where you'll find it."

"That right? I think I'll go check it out a little later." Shepard glanced up to find that the big turian was still scowling at her. She held his gaze for a few moments this time before looking back at the bartender. "Here's an idea though: why don't you find out what Mr. Akarath is drinking and send him another one with my compliments?"

"I sincerely doubt that sending him a drink is going to make him like you."

"No, but it's a good first step." Shepard flashed a brilliant smile at her. "We are all living in a galactic society. What does it say about us if we don't even try to bridge the gaps between our peoples?"

The asari studied her dubiously. "That's uh, very noble I suppose."

"Trust me on this."

"Alllllright." She shrugged her bare shoulders and turned to leave. "Just bear in mind that I did warn you."

Shepard watched her go with an appreciative eye. The bartender was well into the Matriarch stage of asari development, but those long centuries had given her an ass fit to inspire poetry. Her dress was made from a shiny crimson fabric that was cut away to expose a hefty measure of azure skin. Asari looked a lot like humans if one could get past the head tentacles and coloration, and Shepard had enough firsthand experience to know that they had the right parts in the right places. Some people found them unnerving because of their life spans and that Vulcan mind-meld nonsense, but she had personally never seen the issue.

"Commander Shepard? Do you mind if I join you?"

Shepard glanced over her shoulder and immediately stiffened as she found herself staring at Captain David Anderson. He stood a few paces behind her with his hands at his side and a mild expression on his face. Like her, he was wearing the uniform of an Alliance officer, so Shepard pushed away from the bar and started to salute, but before she could so much as lift her hand, Anderson made a sharp, quelling gesture. "No need to draw attention, Shepard, I'm just looking for a drink."

Anderson was several decades her senior and still in better shape than most marines in the Fleet. Tall and gifted with strong features that were equal parts handsome and commanding, he looked like the type of man who had been born to lead others. Despite being able to personally lay claim to more medals than most battlegroups combined, his pristine uniform was unadorned save for the rank insignia pinned at the collar. There were a few so-called heroes in the Alliance, Shepard being one of them, but Anderson went beyond that and into the realm of legendary.

And she had absolutely no idea what he was doing here.

She had gone to this particular bar with the specific intention of avoiding any Alliance personnel. Still, there was no way to politely refuse his request, so she gestured to the empty stool on her left. "By all means, sir, it's good to see you again."

"Likewise." He crossed over to the stool and sat down with every sign of being at ease. Removing his cap, he set it down on the counter and folded his hands in front of him.

Shepard slowly eased back into her previous position of leaning against the bar. She preferred to remain standing, which might be conceived as rude, but she had been here first and if Anderson was offended, he was going to have to deal. Resting her weight on her forearms, she glanced sidelong at the captain and watched as he took in their surroundings.

There was no way that he was impressed even though this place was reasonably upscale. It had been designed for turians, and the décor was inspired by their lamentable conception of art. The metal walls and minimalist furniture lent the place a sterile quality that contrasted bizarrely with the pink and blue neon strips running along the top of the donut-shaped bar. Several sculptures resembling unaccountably-phallic sea anemones lined the walls at what she could only guess were random intervals. The one pleasant aspect to the atmosphere was a delicate thread of music that was piping in from the mounted speakers. It was a curious tune, ponderous and made with some kind of instrument reminiscent of a piccolo. Not exactly the kind of music that Shepard associated with a bar, but this place seemed like it was trying to be a classy sort of venue.

As she looked around, Shepard's gaze settled on the pissy turian across the bar. He was holding a fresh glass of bright-orange liquor, and when their eyes met, he lifted it up with one hand and very purposefully poured it into the sink behind the bar. There was absolutely nothing friendly about the way he stared at her as he did.

Shepard just smiled.

Anderson observed the exchange evident curiosity. "Friend of yours?"

"Apparently not."

"Well, I hope you won't be offended if I say that this isn't the type of place I would have expected to find you."

She knew what he meant, but saw no reason to admit to it. "A bar? I hope you won't be offended, sir, but that's where soldiers tend to end up when they go on shore leave."

"Not turian bars." Anderson subtly indicated their fellow patrons with small gesture of his hand. "Especially not the ones that cater to the military."

"There do seem to be a lot of uniforms in here, now that you mention it."

Anderson shook his head but said nothing further. They were on a turian station located in the same system as Palaven. Most of the soldiers here were probably fresh recruits who had never traveled much beyond the borders of their own civilization. That would make them less tolerant of outsiders and humans in particular. She let him dangle for a few seconds before taking pity. "The First Contact War was over and done before I was even born. I don't have any bad blood."

"They might."

"Then that's their problem, not mine."

Anderson started to reply, but broke off as the asari bartender wandered over and cast a glance between them. She did not look pleased by the sight. "Wonderful, and now there are two of you. Please tell me you aren't looking to start some trouble."

"Furthest thing from our minds." Anderson gave her a charming smile that made him seem like a charming rogue rather than an aging soldier. "We were just discussing this bar. I take it you don't get many humans in here?"

"The two of you are the first I've seen in about six spans. Every once in a while, one of you wanders in because he or she is lost." The asari gave Shepard an irritable nod. "Unlike your crazy friend here, they tend to leave shortly thereafter."

Anderson held up his hands in a display of innocence. "Like I said, we're just going to have a drink and mind our own business."

"I'll hold you to that." The asari heaved a sigh. "So, what can I get you?"

He seemed disproportionately thrown by the question considering that it was being asked by a bartender. After a moment of clear deliberation, he swept a hand toward Shepard's drink. "I suppose I'll have what she is having."

The asari's brow furrowed and she fixed him with a look normally reserved for diseased animals. She then turned to Shepard with a look of profound resignation in her eyes. "Seriously?"

Shepard smirked. "He'll have what I'm having."

Shaking her head, the asari muttered something about humans under her breath and started fixing the drink. About ten seconds later, she planted a short glass down in front of Anderson. "One club soda. Enjoy."

"You can put that on my tab."

"I'm planning on it." The asari grunted as she moved on to serve a visibly drunk turian a few stools down from them. Anderson watched her go before picking up his glass to examine it.

"You're drinking water?"

"She squeezes some kind of asari fruit in it." Shepard responded mildly. "It's good."

""I'm sure; though it's not what I would have expected."

"Meaning?"

"Nothing," Anderson's tone became careful. "Just that your jacket has a few citations and I've overheard some things around the mess. I seem to remember someone saying that you once outdrank a krogan."

Shepard was beginning to sour on this conversation. It was a strange one to be having in the first place. Though she had briefly served under Anderson's command last year, it wasn't like they were close friends. They certainly never had any heart-to-heart's over drinks, and the most that could be said about their relationship was that there was some mutual respect there. Still, mindful of the fact that she was addressing a superior officer, she kept her tone pleasant as she answered. "Things change. Those citations were a long time ago, and you know that no one could ever outdrink a krogan."

"It did seem unlikely." Anderson took a sip of his club soda and made a soft noise of approval as if it were top-shelf bourbon. "I take it you're serving under Captain Moss now?"

"That's right." A little prickle went down her spine as she answered. She suddenly realized what was so strange about this meeting. Watching him out of the corner of her eyes, she spoke lightly as she continued. "And I was under the impression we were the only Alliance ship currently docked on the station. You weren't stowing away, were you, sir?"

"No, no, I arrived by private shuttle this morning. I just spent the last two weeks attending meetings back on Earth. Command has been making some decisions and somehow I got dragged into the bureaucracy." He rolled his eyes and gave her a conspiratorial smile as if they were meant to bond over a shared hatred of paperwork. "Speaking of which, I met with Admiral Hackett while I was there and he asked me to convey his regards. He said to tell you that he hasn't had a decent fencing partner since you left."

Shepard huffed out a quiet laugh. "That lying old dog. He beats the ever-loving hell out of me every single time we fence."

"Know him, that's probably why he likes having you as a partner." Anderson smiled and turned to face her fully. "Someday, you are going to have to tell me the story of how the two of you ended up doing that together."

"Not much of a story. We were both stuck doing a PR tour after Elysium that left us with about four months of downtime between planets. The Admiral is big on fencing, so when he offered to teach me, I figured that indulging his hobby was good way to callously advance my own career." She tossed him a lazy smirk. "I ended up liking it."

"Career advancement?" He spoke the words slowly, as if trying to get a better understanding of them. "Something tells me that wasn't the case."

Shepard was officially wary. This was not a casual conversation. "Why's that, sir?"

"You made Lieutenant Commander faster than just about anyone I've ever seen, but afterwards, you declined three separate offers for promotion. Two of which were staff positions at Command, and the third was a captaincy of a frigate." He was watching her closely, his expression neutral. "Most officers would leap on any one of those opportunities, but not you. That's curious."

Shepard pursed her lips and stared down at the bar. If Anderson's statement had been any more pointed, it would have impaled her. "Sir, may I ask you what this is about? I'm not oblivious; you didn't come here for a drink."

To his credit, Anderson did not pretend at innocence. He just straightened up and gave her a level look. "Apologies, Shepard, I wasn't looking to trick you or anything of the sort. This seemed like the best way to handle the situation."

"Situation? I don't follow, sir."

"Then let me explain." He lowered his voice so that his baritone became a weighty rumble. "Let's start with a question: how much do you know about galactic politics?"

Realizing that her shore leave was about to take a turn for the boring, Shepard reluctantly settled in for the long haul. "I wouldn't call myself an expert, but I pay attention."

"Then you should know that humanity is making increasingly loud bids for a seat on the Council and that those efforts have gotten us nowhere." Anderson pushed his drink away and leaned in to give them more privacy. "The public isn't privy to most of the political discourse on the subject, but the long and short of it is that our appeals are being denied because we the newcomers here. The Council races don't like the idea of promoting the youngest species under their authority, and because only they get a vote, we seem to be out of luck."

She nodded. "The extranet pundits are saying the same."

"Well, Alliance Command is of the opinion that we need to do something about it. Mankind is contributing as much to galactic society as any of the three council races, and it stands to reason that we deserve equal representation. Unfortunately, this stance has led to us being criticized as overly-ambitious and impatient."

"Aren't we, though?" Shepard smiled thinly and took a long sip of water. "The Volus have been under council authority forever and they don't have a seat yet."

"The Volus occupy less than a tenth of the worlds that we do and their influence is strictly economic. Same goes for the Elchor and Hanar. Those races have never been allowed to join the Council because they have never held the same stake as the asari, turians, or salarians. Humanity is different. Our military is second only to the Turian Fleet and our internal economy is growing stronger by the second. We may have come late to the game, but we've brought a hell of lot with us. "

He was starting to sound passionate and Shepard liked the change. Whatever game he had been playing when he walked in here, it had not agreed with him. Anderson had always struck her as straightforward and he was more relaxed now that they were beyond pretense. She decided to humor him. "It's not like that matters to the Council. If they give us a vote, they'd be reducing their own power and increasing ours. They aren't going to budge just because we make a good point."

"No, at least not as things stand. Command has accepted that they'll have to approach this is a more subtle fashion." He shot her a significant glance. "Which is where you come in."

Shepard blinked. "That can't possibly be where I come in."

"Hear me out." Anderson folded his arms and rested his elbows atop the bar before motioning her closer with his fingers. Mentally rolling her eyes, Shepard mirrored his posture and leaned in. "The Ambassador to the Citadel, Donnel Udina, believes that we are hurting our standing in galactic society by being so aggressive. For the last several months, he has been working to secure an agreement between the Alliance and the Council that satisfies both parties. While I don't particularly like the man, I have to admit that he might have done it."

In spite of herself, Shepard felt the first stirrings of interest. "And how'd he managed that?"

"The same way every political agreement comes together: mutual concession. Humanity is going to temporarily abandon its attempts to secure voting rights in exchange for a different form of recognition. The Council has agreed to accept one of our own into an important and fiercely exclusive form of service." Anderson paused to give her a very significant look. "Now, _hypothetically _speaking, if Alliance Command was to choose that individual, say, for instance, in a series of meetings back on Earth, your name might have been spoken often and with great enthusiasm."

Shepard reared back, surprised and a little repulsed by the insinuation. "Sir, I'm not a diplomat and I'm certainly not a politician."

He nodded. "Then it's lucky that we aren't looking for either. What we need is a soldier, Shepard, and an exceptional one at that."

"For what?" She felt herself tensing up in preparation for an argument. The thought of spending the rest of her career behind a desk was nauseating. "Honestly, sir, what could I possibly do for the Council?"

Anderson opened his mouth and then closed it. Carefully looking over both shoulders, he lifted his glass off of the bar and touched a finger to the ring of condensation that it had left behind. Quickly tracing a small symbol in the water, he withdrew his hand and indicated that she should take a look. Though the dramatics did not help her mood, Shepard dutifully examined his work.

There, sketched on the smooth metal of the bar was a rather wobbly "**S**". Staring down at it for a moment, Shepard shrugged carelessly. "Sorry, sir, but if that was supposed to—"

It hit her.

It hit her like a big ole' fuck-ton of bricks.

She looked up at Anderson. "You're joking."

Anderson smiled and swept a hand over the bar to obliterate the watery symbol. "You weren't supposed to know, so I would appreciate it if you would make an effort to forget what I just did."

"Done." She nodded absently, still floored by what she had learned. "Can you tell me if that is for certain?"

"All parties agreed that you were a suitable candidate. The Alliance made the recommendation and the Council approved it."

A small laugh escaped her before she could stop it. Now that the initial shock had passed, the absurdity of what she was hearing sunk in. "The Alliance wants _me_ to represent humanity."

Anderson mistook her incredulity for humility. "No need to sound so surprised, Shepard. You're N7 and a decorated officer. Several of your former XO's, myself included, have described you as the finest combat leader they've ever worked with. Besides that, you've got a good reputation among human civilians and an even better military jacket." He shrugged in a vaguely apologetic fashion. "And though I don't think you'll like hearing this, you are going to look good on the recruitment posters."

Shepard took her index and middle fingers and dragged them down the parallel scars on her face. "Flattery doesn't suit you, sir."

"According to a poll that the Ambassador office conducted, civilians think the scars make you look experienced."

Shaking her head, Shepard succumbed to a mixture of exasperation and growing excitement. "This isn't a joke?"

"I assure you, everyone is taking this very seriously. The only question is: how do you feel about it?"

She did not hesitate. This opportunity was unexpected, but it was far too good to pass up. "I would take that kind of promotion in a heartbeat."

"Thought you might." He pulled a small slip of paper from the pocket of his jacket and pressed it into her left hand. "New orders. You and I are going to be serving together on a prototype vessel that was made in collaboration with the turian military. Our destination will be Eden Prime."

"Eden Prime," she checked the missive to confirm what he had said. "The colony world? What are we going to do there?"

"We'll be accompanied by a turian named Nihilus. He's a member of the organization that we were discussing and he has a keen interest in seeing how you will perform in a series of war games. It would be best if you impressed him."

"I can be impressive."

"And I have no doubts on that account." He lifted his glass of water. "Now, seeing that things are settled, do you think it would be overblown if I proposed a toast to the advancement of humanity?"

"I won't hold it against you, sir."

They clinked glasses and both took a sip of club soda. Setting hers down, Shepard clucked her tongue as something occurred to her. "I guess all this explains why you are having me followed."

Anderson froze in place before slowly lowering his own glass. "Shepard—"

"Tall guy with red hair? Not particularly good at being inconspicuous? He's been trailing me since I left the port."

"Not my idea, Shepard." Anderson's mouth twisted into a sour expression. "He's one of the Ambassador's aides. In spite of my objections, Udina sent him to get a better idea of your activities. He seems to think that it is important to get to know your personal life."

"You might want to tell him to go home. He didn't follow me inside, and it probably isn't wise for him to be lurking about in a turian sector all by himself."

Anderson gave a short, rueful laugh. "That's why you're here."

"Nah, that's just happy coincidence, sir. This is where I intended to be all along."

"Do you mind me asking why?" He quickly raised his hand in a pacifying gesture. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but there are a lot of other places you get a club soda."

In light of the good news, Shepard gave him the benefit of the doubt. "I didn't come here for the drinks; I came here hoping for some company."

It took him a few seconds, but Anderson got it. Averting his eyes, he cleared his throat with a rough cough. "Ah, I see."

She managed to avoid smirking. "You disapprove?"

"Not at all, it's just a surprise. I wasn't aware that you leaned in that direction."

"That direction, this direction, every sort of direction really." She did smile then, but it was mostly to ease Anderson's visible discomfort. "If you're feeling romantic, you can call me a lover of souls, not species."

He laughed, somewhat uncertainly. "No offense, Shepard, but I don't think this bar is feeling very friendly toward either us. You might be out of luck."

"Could be," she looked over at the turian with the red facepaint. His attention wasn't on her at the moment, but she knew that he hadn't forgotten about her. "Then again, turians respect boldness in all its forms, and what's ballsier than walking into a place full of violent people with reason to dislike you?"

There was a long pause in which Shepard could feel Anderson's eyes on her. Finally, he let out a low whistle. "And this is what you do in your free time?"

"You can tell the Ambassador, I won't mind."

"No, I prefer to interact with him as little as possible." He got off his stool and clapped a hand on her shoulder. "I think I've taken up enough of your leave, Shepard. Good luck with the rest of the evening and make sure you're able to report for duty tomorrow at ten hundred hours. Oh, and congratulations."

"Thank you, sir." She straightened up to salute, and this time, Anderson returned it before collecting his cap off the bar and pulling it on. Turning to leave, he gave her a small smile.

"I'll take care of your tail. He's probably not too keen on following you around in any case."

"Appreciate that, sir."

Shepard watched him go before turning back to face forward. Outwardly, she remained composed, but inside she was a churning mess of excitement. Becoming a Council Spectre would make her responsible for some of the most vital and dangerous tasks imaginable. It was a dream job for her, a chance to put her talents to use while enjoying a complete lack of censure. Spectres were above the law, their methods rarely questions so long as they produced results.

And she was going to be the first human serving in that capacity. Hard to believe that nine years ago, she had been a farm girl without a credit to her name.

"Hey, human."

The deep, flanging voice of a turian cut into her thoughts. Already knowing what to expect, she lifted her head to find Darrin Akarath looming over her like an armored dinosaur. His two turian friends were at his back, but the salarian was still sitting across the bar looking very uncomfortable. Shepard swept a glance between all three of the turians before letting her gaze settle on Darrin. "Hey, turian."

"I don't know if you were trying to be funny or if you really think I'd want anything to do with ugly _pyjack _like you, but messing with me was a mistake." He planted a hand down on the bar and hunched over so that their faces were mere inches apart. "You came to the wrong place, human, and you've had plenty of chances to leave, so now the question is whether you want to walk out or crawl out."

Shepard stared into his sharp yellow eyes and wondered why it had taken him so long to do this. He might have come over when Anderson was still here, but perhaps he was a coward and had waited for her to be alone. In any case, she knew empty bluster when she heard it. If this was going to get interesting, he needed to be angrier, and nothing upset turian males quite as much as being ignored.

Smiling just slightly, she turned her head away as though he had not spoken. Taking hold of her drink, she lifted it off the bar, but before she had raised it halfway to her lips, a taloned hand seized her wrist in a painful grip. This time around, Darrin got so close that Shepard could feel his breath blooming against the side of her neck. "Are you deaf or just stupid, human?"

Shepard closed her eyes and shivered as a warm tendril of anticipation began to uncurl in her chest. The turian did not know it, but he was currently a character in a larger narrative. Later on, if anyone cared to hear about it, they would be told a story about the quiet human officer who had kept to herself all evening, tipped well, and ordered nothing stronger than water. On the other side of things was the turian officer with a known grudge against humanity and several friends at his back. He had been loud, aggressive, and yes, he had been drinking steadily. Taken individually, these facts meant nothing, but when all of them were put into context, a very compelling story would take form.

A story that would end with the turian throwing the first punch.

Her heart rate picked up and Shepard could feel the world beginning to sharpen as she turned back to Darrin. His mandibles were spread in a display of anger, and she experienced an instinctive jolt as being so close to an obvious predator. The fear only heightened her excitement, and in response to that stimulus, the dark parts of her soul began to stir and awaken.

It was then that she paused and arrived at the unpleasant realization that a bar fight was not a good way to preface her evaluation for Spectre candidacy. Considering that the Council was probably looking for any excuse to deny her entry, she could hardly afford to be involved in the hospitalization of a turian from a prominent family. She didn't intend to do any permanent damage, but something told her that Darrin was the type to hold a grudge regardless. Pushing down her sense of frustration, she forced herself to make the smart decision. "The drink was a friendly gesture, a token of respect from one officer to another. I think we should call it a misunderstanding and both walk away."

Darrin didn't let go of her wrist. His face had twisted into an ugly expression of cruel amusement. He must have thought she was scared. "Not a chance, human."

Shepard flared her biotics. A static hum rose up around them and her eyes tingled as vaporous eddies of dark energy bled from them like gouts of indigo steam. For his benefit, she made no effort to conceal the cold and terrible anger that entered into her tone. "In that case, how 'bout I make your skull implode?"

Darrin let go of her wrist.

It was almost worth wasting her night in this bar just to see the expression on his face. Turian emotions could be hard to read given their avian features and plated skin, but pants-shitting terror looked the same on all species. Shepard maintained the biotic display for a few seconds before letting it die off. It had done the trick. Darrin's friends had abruptly found something better to do, and the man himself seemed torn between fleeing and remaining perfectly still.

That was about the time the asari bartender made her reappearance. Frowning mightily, she swept a glance between Shepard and Darrin before folding her arms across her chest. "Leave the girl alone, Akarath. I'm not having any trouble in here and I'm more than willing to stuff a warp field down your throat."

Darrin gave a jerky nod, his wide eyes never leaving Shepard's face. "No trouble…just a misunderstanding."

He stepped away and slunk to his seat without ever actually turning his back on her. Trying to relax now that any chance of a fight had passed, Shepard made an effort to appear sheepish as she smiled at the bartender. "Thanks for the rescue."

"Don't mention it." The bartender looked a little pleased with herself. Everyone enjoyed feeling like the hero. "But do you see now why this might not be the best place for you to hang around?"

Shepard nodded emphatically and drew her credit chit from her uniform's jacket. "I think I do. Why don't you close out my tab?"

She paid for her drinks and left an absurdly large tip to make up for the fact that she had been drinking water. There was no reason to linger here any longer, so she waved to the bartender and made for the exit.

Outside, she took a moment to check her surroundings. The large corridor of the space station was occupied by several dozen turians and not much else. It looked as though Anderson was good to his word. Either she wasn't being followed or they had found someone who really knew what he was doing. Shepard briefly considered heading back to the docking bay to grab some rack time, but that brief confrontation in the bar had gotten her all worked up and she needed to find an outlet. Although fighting was out of the question, she had heard about a nice wine bar up on the third floor that was apparently chock-full with asari maidens. She grinned to herself and started walking toward the nearest transit lift.

It wasn't every day that she had a good reason to celebrate.

**...**

* * *

Okay, the first game starts up in the next chapter which is going to be from a different character's perspective. I'll be putting it out next week. Please consider leaving a review if you are enjoying the story. I'd love to hear any suggestions or advice you might want to offer!


	6. Chapter 5: Joker

**A/N: **I apologize for the delay. I'm moving to a new state and life has been hectic.

Chapter 5: Joker

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* * *

_xxXxx_

_..._

_Arcturus Stream._ _The Normandy_, N_earest Celestial Body: Arcturus Station_

_2183 CE, September, 13__th_

_GST: 16:43_

_..._

Somewhere out in the vast expanse of the galaxy, on one dry-dock or another, there was a design engineer who deserved to be tossed out of an airlock.

The SSV _Normandy _was a modern marvel, a testament to the creativity and collaborative effort of two separate species. It was capable of stealth flight, something that was fairly remarkable when one considered that even the faintest heat signature stood out like a beacon in the vacuum of space. Thanks to the experimental Internal Emission Sinks installed aboard the _Normandy_, the ship was capable of storing the expended heat from an ME Core for several hours in a fashion that even the best military array could not detect. Sure, that heat eventually needed to be radiated or else it would cook the entire crew alive, but considering that most starships were constantly bleeding energy, the _Normandy _was as subtle as they came. This was made even more impressive when one learned that the Tantalus Drive Core at the heart of the vessel was twice the size of a standard core. That massive power source allowed the _Normandy_ to figuratively "drop" into streams of concentrated mass, and in doing so, effectively accelerate without the use of thrusters. Really, the _Normandy_ was more than amazing; it was perhaps the most advanced piece of technology in the entire galaxy.

Yet, with all of that being said, Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau couldn't get past the fact that some triumphant assclown had decided that the best way to connect the crew deck and the command deck was with a staircase.

There was no reasoning behind it. A perfectly good elevator connected four of the five decks, but then, in an arbitrary stroke of stupidity, it simply did not extend up to the CIC. Instead, anytime someone wished to do something like get a cup of coffee or use the restroom, they would have to traverse one of two narrow, curving staircases that ran between the upper decks. Most people wouldn't even give this minor inconvenience a second thought, but then those people didn't have to worry about their skeleton fracturing at the slightest provocation.

Jeff mentally sighed as he began to climb the first step. By this point in his life, he had the process down to a science: both crutches under one arm, his other hand on the guide rail, and then a series of very deliberate motions as he stepped up, moved his crutches, and repeated. All told, it took him a good thirty seconds each time, but he never rushed himself. Even a short fall down these stairs meant far too many painful months in traction and physical therapy.

He hated the staircase with a passion, but it wasn't the hardship or potential danger that bothered him so much as it was the spectacle. Most of the time, he could get around just fine and nobody seemed to notice. When he climbed stairs, it was awkward, painstakingly slow, and crewmen went out of their way just to give him space. One time, a comms officer coming down the stairs had turned around and walked back up just to clear the way. Not only had that been completely unnecessary, but it had basically demanded that he mutter his thanks like some kind of asshole when he reached the top.

So yeah, he hated stairs. Each trip up and down them was a reminder, and when a person already knew his limitations, being reminded of them rankled.

The CIC was a buzz of activity as he cleared the final step. Unlike most human vessels whose command decks were more centralized, the _Normandy_'s CIC was oval-shaped and elongated. A vast, multi-colored hologram of galactic space dominated the center of the room. Captain Anderson stood on a raised platform over it, the elevated position of the commanding officer being one of the design elements borrowed from the turians. A varied collection of communications officers, combat specialists, and flight coordinators sat at the twenty-odd terminals that lined the outer ring of the CIC. During normal flight, this deck was usually a picture of composed efficiency, but in light of the upcoming Mass Relay, it was alive with furious typing and shouted responses as Navigator Pressly led everyone through the pre-jump checks.

Jeff wove his way through the crowded deck as best he could. Captain Anderson caught his eye and gave him an informal nod which Jeff returned with genuine respect. He liked Anderson. In the military, there were a few bad officers, a few good ones, and few who were in between. Anderson didn't fit any of those categories. He was just a natural, one of those men who could give an order and make you obey it without even thinking. Jeff had served under all sorts of commanding officers, and though he always made a point to perform according to his ability, it was a simple fact that a crew functioned better when the captain knew his or her business.

A few of the other crewmembers looked up from the workstations long enough to acknowledge his passing before immediately turning back to their business. Dr. Chakwas was on the other side of the room, deep in conversation with Commander Shepard and a marine that he did not recognize. Jeff rolled his eyes and mentally wished the good doctor luck. He didn't have anything against marines, but each time he spoke with a Hardsuit, he was left wondering if the IQ entry tests were nearly as selective as the Alliance made them out to be.

Finally, at long last, he reached his place on the _Normandy_. The flight deck had three seats: a pilot's couch, a co-pilot's station, and a third seat that could be manned by a comms officer if long-range scanning was required. A three-paned observation port took up the front of the deck, its polarized glass providing a view of the stars that remained breathtaking even after years of seeing the like. Jeff knew that some people got sick of space and practically craved the feel of a terrestrial world, but he couldn't see how anyone would get tired of looking out a window and being greeted with all that darkness and light.

He admired it for a few seconds before carefully lowered himself down in the pilot's couch. Wedging his crutches in the gap between two terminals, he settled back into the uncomfortably firm cushions of the reclined chair and placed his arms down on the rests. A familiar sense of excitement tingled through him as he tapped the activation key and brought the ship's controls online.

Several haptic interfaces winked into existence around him, their holographic display bathing the flight deck in shades of orange, yellow, and red. Jeff traced his fingers over the command nodes and couldn't hold back his smile. Making a slight adjustment to the course for the simple pleasure of doing so, he experienced a pang of satisfaction when the _Normandy_ responded with smooth precision. He could feel vibrations from the compensating thrusters in his bones, a faint rumble that made him feel like a part in a larger machine.

A knot of tension eased from his shoulders. This was home, and there wasn't a staircase tall enough to keep him away.

Autopilot had dragged the _Normandy _out of FTL about a half-hour ago because they were in relative proximity to the local Mass Relay. He could see the colossal construct now, though they were still far enough away that it appeared as nothing more a bluish speck of light amid the field of stars. Jeff sucked at his teeth, glancing down out the navigation display and estimating that they were less than five minutes out. Alenko would have to get up here soon if he wanted to ride sidecar. It did not matter to Jeff one way or the other. He didn't need a co-pilot for a jump and would have happily done it solo had Kaidan not specifically asked to sit in.

His eyes flickered over the auxiliary monitors, taking in the diagnostic feeds from Engineering. With a pang of annoyance, he noticed that the ME core was in an arrhythmic sequence. He had told the gearheads that their processes were off four times this week. Pulling up his personal console, he fired off a terse message to Adams telling him to fix the issue. A poorly-tuned core was not a life or death situation, but it could negatively influence performance and Jeff had exactly no tolerance for that. If he had a sudden need to do something fancy, he wanted to know with certainty that this ship would do what he expected it to.

It was the same reason he made sure to check that the weapon systems were linked and that the shields were overlapping properly. He ran those checks every time he got behind the controls of a ship, not because it was his duty, but because he wanted to know every inch of the _Normandy. _ He wanted to know it so well that the moment something went wrong, he would feel it without needing to be told.

That was part of being a pilot. Too many people flew starships without ever giving thought to anything beyond the cockpit. It wasn't just irresponsible, it was unprofessional.

The steady tap of military boots preceded Lt. Alenko's entry onto the flight deck. Despite being an officer and one of the most seasoned marines onboard, Kaidan looked like a movie star rather than a veteran. His handsome features were the result of an arresting blend of Asiatic and Caucasian heritage, and although he was not particularly tall, his build was all lean muscle. You wouldn't know it to look at him, but Kaidan was also a biotic. Although Jeff had never seen him in action, Kaidan had a great reputation and was apparently on the higher-performing end of the human biotic spectrum.

As a general rule, Jeff didn't care for biotics. They were a tiny minority, and though they had their share of hardship when it came to public perception and mastering their abilities, he resented them calling their "condition" a handicap. If he could move stuff with his mind and blow up blast doors with asymmetric warp fields, Jeff would be pretty alright with having a handicap. Instead, he was shattering a wrist and a few ribs every time he tripped.

Still, Kaidan was a decent sort. He exuded an air of calm professionalism that Jeff would have liked to see in more Hardsuits. That didn't keep Kaidan from making the occasional joke, and despite having gone through Basic Training, Kaidan also had an academic background that manifested in sporadic discussions about philosophy that were surprisingly interesting considering they were about philosophy. Overall, he was one of the few people on the ship that Jeff actually enjoyed spending time with.

Sliding down into the co-pilot's chair, Kaidan flashed his perfectly white teeth in a friendly grin. "Joker, how's things? Ready to embark on the great adventure?"

"If by adventure you mean a vanilla jump along one of the most frequented routes in human space," Joker grunted in disgust. "Then yeah, I'm gushing."

"C'mon, with the way you've been going on about this bird, I figured you'd be a little excited."

Jeff spread his hands to indicate the command nodes in front of him. "That's the point. I'm flying the most sophistical machine I've ever touched, and they're sending us out on a Sunday drive. Gimme' a chance to put her through the motions and we'll talk about excitement."

"It's a trial run, what do you expect?" Kaidan shrugged easily and activated his controls. "If it makes you feel better, I'll probably end up bored out of my skull doing field exercises once we reach Eden Prime."

"Field exercises under _Commander Shepard_."

Kaidan gave him an amused look and rapped a nearby bulkhead with his knuckle. "Vanilla run with a ship that cost as much as a _space station_."

"A space station's budget wouldn't even cover the R&D on this beauty." Jeff stroked an affection hand over the interface in front of him and brought up the engine output on his screen. "You still want to take shotgun on the jump?"

"So long as I'm not in your way."

"Nah, let's start up the protocols. This is the first officially documented run, so we might as well make it a good one."

Kaidan nodded, and soon the two of them were working together to establish a link with the Mass Relay. The navigational coordinates for Eden Prime had already been transmitted the moment the _Normandy_ left FTL, but now that the relays were aligned, they needed to transmit the ship's flight path, approximate mass, current acceleration, and finally, the intended destination. Actually flying the ship into the Relay's mass corridor would be the tricky part, but the general rule of modern spaceflight was that a pilot spent just as much time doing math as touching the controls.

After they had gone over all the pre-jump checks, Kaidan cracked his knuckles as he settled back into his chair. "Relay is hot and all pertinent information has been transmitted."

"Roger that, we got about 30 seconds until the jump." Jeff leaned forward and flipped the intercom. As he spoke, he could hear his own voice echoing back at him from the CIC. "All crewmembers prepare for Relay Transit. Decks 2 and 5 confirm readiness."

The confirmation pings from Engineering and CIC flared up on his terminal almost immediately. Pleased by the quick response, Jeff glanced over at Kaidan. "I got an approach vector. Are we clear?"

"All points are green. The engine is reading perfect."

"Alright, let's make this happen." Jeff adjusted the course and grinned when he felt the _Normandy_ respond to his command seamlessly. Hitting the intercom once more, he issued the final warning. "Be advised, relay transit will occur in…" Jeff shot a look over down at his terminal to confirm to the time. "Fifteen seconds."

A sharp clicking noise entered the flight deck as someone drew up behind his chair, but Jeff did not bother to look back. Only turian boots made that distinctive "click-tap-click" sound, and as there was only one turian aboard the _Normandy_, Jeff made the safe assumption that Nihlus had joined them. Ignoring the alien entirely, he devoted his attention to the much more pressing matter of launching a ship across the galaxy.

The Mass Relay grew larger and larger until it was dominating the observation screen. At the heart of the Relay was a vast core of Element Zero that shown a bright and vivid blue. Gyroscopic rings swirled about the core in concentric layers, and the two massive arms of the Relay began to crackling with great arcs of energy as it created the mass corridor through which they would travel.

Jeff's job was simple and fiendishly difficult all at once. A pilot needed to keep a constant rate of acceleration while still entering the mass corridor at both the right time and place. It was all in the angle of approach. Coming in from directly behind was a risky move as the Relay's core tended to fluctuate when it was active, creating a "wake" of static discharge and variable mass pockets. Flying into that was just begging for trouble, so the best course of action was a wide arc that would end with the _Normandy_ drawing up parallel with the Relay's core at the very last minute. It was one of those simple concepts that proved difficult to master. Too many pilots came into the mass corridor early and ended up several dozen light-minutes from their intended exit point. Still, that was better than coming in too late or at a bad angle. That ran the risk of having the ship leave the corridor at an unexpected point. Depending on where you ended up, a stranded ship might be looking at several months of FTL flight just to get back to inhabited space.

Jeff took his approach and instinctively knew that it was a good one. As the _Normandy_ entered the Relay's mass corridor, his entire body began to feel light and airy like he had just huffed a few breaths of nitrous oxide. The hair on his forearms stood on end, and there was a great, warbling roar as the Relay's accelerators kicked on—

—And then it was over.

A Relay Jump was next to instantaneous. One moment they were entering the mass corridor, and in the next, Jeff was looking at an entirely different field of stars. The only thing that marked the passage was the slight pause in his breathing rhythm that lasted just long enough to be noticeable. It happened to almost everyone during a jump. Crewmembers called it "The Hitch", and it was considered something of a phenomenon because relay transit didn't introduce any outside force on the occupants of a vessel. Some people said it was psychosomatic, but Jeff figured that it was just the body's way of reconciling itself with the fact that it had leapt across an unfathomably large distance in less than a heartbeat.

He breathed out slowly and looked down at the ship's readings. "All systems are reading normal, Internal Emission Sinks are active, drift is…just under 1,500 kilometers."

There was a shifting sound behind him, and then the turian Nihlus spoke up. "1,500 is good. Your captain will be pleased."

With that, the alien turned and started back toward CIC. Jeff waited until he was sure Nihlus was out of earshot before making an irritated sound. "I hate that guy."

Kaidan raised his brows. "Nihlus pays you a compliment and you hate him? Sounds reasonable."

"Compliment?" Jeff rolled his eyes mightily as he adjusted the course towards Eden Prime and began priming the FTL drive. "You remember to check your fly before leaving the bathroom, that's good. You take a speck of metal and launch it across the galaxy with a drift of under 1500? That's approaching miraculous."

"Uh-huh."

Jeff ignored Kaidan's skepticism. "But even if I was willing to look past that, it wouldn't change the fact that Spectres are trouble. I don't like having him on board. Call me paranoid, but his being here means something."

"You're paranoid." Kaidan responded with an insulting degree of confidence. "The Council paid for the _Normandy's _development, it makes sense that they would want a representative to keep an eye on their investment."

"Yeah, that's the official story, and who would be dumb enough to believe the official story?"

A low chuckle sounded from behind his chair. "Certainly not you, right, Joker?"

The voice that answered him definitely did not belong to Kaidan. It was rich, throaty, and touched with a lazy colonial drawl. Already knowing what to expect, Jeff glanced up from his terminal to find Commander Shepard standing a few feet to his left.

Their new commander had been aboard the _Normandy _for a little over two weeks now, and he still did not know what to make of her. Way back when Elysium had been the only thing the extranet was talking about, he remembered seeing a picture of her and thinking nothing beyond the fact that she was fairly hot for a Hardsuit. She had changed since those photos, the four subsequent years having shaved off a few soft corners to leave her with a fierce, arrogant sort of appeal. Shepard was tall for a woman, strong-shouldered and characterized by the wiry toughness that most female marines seemed to acquire after a few years in the service. Her black hair was straight and cut close to her skull, and her skin tone was the ashy-pale of someone who had grown up in unnatural lighting.

Trying not to be unnerved by the fact that she had entered the flight deck without making a sound, he managed to smirk at her. "I try to always expect the worst when it comes to politics, Commander. It keeps me from being surprised."

"Yeah?" She breathed out another quiet laugh and moved up so that he wouldn't have to crane his neck to see her. "And what about you, Alenko? Any cynicism on your end?"

Kaidan gave a brief shake of his head. "I think the Council has its own agenda, but that doesn't mean it's a sinister one. We can't fault them for having motives when we have plenty of our own."

"That's diplomatic of you."

Her tone was so completely even that Jeff could not decide whether she was mocking Kaidan or not. That wasn't so unusual. Shepard was an odd breed of cat, and through the handful of conversations he had shared with her, the most Jeff could say was that she had a sense of humor and a bizarre way of expressing it.

In any case, Kaidan didn't seem offended. "I was under the impression this was a diplomatic mission, ma'am, a chance to foster some solidarity between ourselves and the turians."

Shepard's lips twitched, her eyes trained on one of the distant stars outside the observation port. "Of course, lieutenant, that's why we're out here."

Again, there was no inflection to her voice, but Jeff was almost positive that was sarcasm. It was enough to pique his interest and he decided to see what Shepard knew. "Give me a break, Commander, if that was the case, there would be more than one turian on the ship. Don't you think this is all a little strange?"

Shepard tilted her head to regard him silently. Briefly, Jeff wondered if he had overstepped his bounds. She didn't seem like the type of officer to get hung up on rank protocol, but then again, this was the first time he had tested her limits when it came to impropriety. Just as he was preparing to apologize, she surprised him with a sudden bark of laughter. "Hey, Alenko, what does a marine think?"

Kaidan chuckled and glanced up at her. "You haven't heard, ma'am? Other people think, a marine follows orders."

The two of them traded knowing smiles and Jeff fought to keep from sighing. He had never heard anyone say that before, but Kaidan made it sound like something that had been recited and repeated often. He would have bet all the credits on his chit that it was some dumb inside-joke from Basic Training. Marines loved to exclude people from their insular bullshit almost as much as they enjoyed looking down on Academy recruits. It didn't matter that all recruits received some form of combat training regardless of assignment; Hardsuits seemed to think that you weren't a real soldier unless a DI with anger issues had made you eat bugs or whatever.

Jeff was tired of that routine, and his irritation momentarily got the better of him. "I was being serious, Commander."

"As was I." Shepard's smile faded like a passing thought. "We have orders, Joker, and barring a spectacularly ill-advised mutiny, everyone on this ship is going to follow those orders. So, although the three of us could spend the next couple hours talking about shadow politics and the turian menace, I don't much see the point considering we're going to do what we're told regardless of who's doing the telling."

Jeff frowned slightly as he turned back to his terminal. That was a conversation killer if he'd ever heard one. "I was just thinking it would be nice if a pilot actually knew exactly what he was flying into for a change. If we're doing something other than an easy run into Eden Prime, I'd like to be prepared for it."

"Expect the worst. It'll keep you from being surprised."

Now, that was unquestionably mocking, but before Jeff could formulate a reply, the comms channel lit up on his display and Captain Anderson's voice filtered through the flight deck's speakers. "Joker. Let Commander Shepard know that I need her in briefing."

"On my way, sir." Shepard answered the captain's summons directly and turned to leave. Just before stepping clear of the flight deck, she hesitated just long enough to grace Kaidan and Jeff with short nod. "Gentlemen."

As with Nihlus, Jeff waited until the commander was well out of earshot before adopting an exaggerated form of her accent. "No point in knowin' anything cause ya don't have a choice in the end." He dropped the drawl and rolled his eyes at Kaidan. "Jeez, glad they sent us a genuine Alliance hero. That was inspiring as hell."

Kaidan laughed at that. "She's not so bad."

"She's a pod person, and someone should tell her that ordinary humans blink every once in a while." He shrugged in response to Kaidan's disapproving look. "What, you got a soft spot for her or something?"

"Oh no," Kaidan warded off the suggestion with a wave of his hand. "Shepard isn't my type. I tend to go for women who are a little less…terrifying."

Jeff scoffed. "Terrifying? Don't tell me you actually believe those stories about her."

"I'm not talking about stories, I'm talking about Peluso."

"What in the hell is Peluso?"

"Peluso is a who. He's one of the marines we got onboard. Big guy with the neck tattoo, always bringing up this asari he slept with one time?"

"Oh, him." Jeff made no effort to hide his distaste. Peluso had taken to calling him 'sticks' because of the crutches, and Jeff had yet to find that endearing. "What about him?"

Kaidan took his hands off of his terminal and leaned back into his seat. Folding his arms across his chest, he took a breath in preparation of launching into a story. "Okay, so in order to appreciate this fully, you need to know that Peluso loves to talk. He's dead-set on joining the R.O.E, and if you stand still long enough, he'll feed you a line about how orbital insertion is the toughest branch of the service and how N7 doesn't even hold a candle. It's a load of hot air, but there was nothing mean-spirited about it. I let it slide at first, but when he started joking that the commander was just a poster girl that the Alliance drummed up to increase recruitment after Elysium, I told him to put a lid on it."

"Aww, you _do_ have a soft spot for her."

"Empty bluster and a few lame jokes is one thing, insubordination is another." Kaidan gave him a pointed look that Jeff chose not to notice. "Anyway, fast-forward to about three days into FTL transit. A few of us were passing time in that gym they set up in the cargo hold when Shepard walks in and starts working on one of the bags. She pretty much ignored us at first, but then Peluso gets it into his head that it would be funny if he offered to spar with her. He made a big deal about it too, like he was challenging her without actually saying so, but I don't think he truly expected someone who weighs half of what he does to accept."

Jeff could see where this was going. "Let me guess: she did?"

"That's putting it mildly."

"Took him apart, huh?"

"Yeah, but that wasn't the surprising part. I mean, ignoring her reputation, no one makes N7 without being dangerous." Kaidan paused for a moment as though uncertain of his next words. "I guess what stood out to me was the way she did it. Peluso might be an ass, but he went through CQC and he's on the large side. If I was up against him, I'd be cautious. Shepard ripped into him like a wolverine going after a big sack of stupid. There was nothing playful about it, and that made an impression."

He shrugged and then fell silent. Jeff waited to see if there was more, but it looked like Kaidan's story had come to a close. "Okay, so in addition to the pod person thing, she's also scary. That makes her "not so bad" in your opinion?"

"I'm just saying she could have chewed you out for talking the way you did, but she chose not to. Hence: not so bad."

Jeff snorted. "Whatever. Let's run through the diagnostics since we don't have anything better to do. I want to see how well those sinks absorb the Relay bleed."

They went through the checks together, though Jeff had suggested it entirely for Kaidan's benefit. Thanks to his early years at some kind of secret biotic academy, Kaidan had an atypical resume that included an out-of-date qualification for comms and flight. Jeff wouldn't trust him to fly the _Normandy_ on his own, but Kaidan made a good co-pilot and the two of them got along. Considering that Jeff didn't work well with most people, he was willing to bring the lieutenant up to speed if it meant avoiding the irritating nav officers that Anderson had tried to saddle him with.

He half-listened as Kaidan went over the temperature readings of the ME core, most of his attention focused on bringing the _Normandy _into low-burn FTL. The Relay had dumped them just shy of one hundred light minutes from Eden Prime, and though the _Normandy _could go a hell of a lot faster, he wanted to go slow and see how the ship's IES system functioned after a jump. They were traveling at just above the speed of light, and if he was being conservative, he'd put their ETA at about an hour. Of course, that was assuming that their big ME core didn't prove as unstable as some of the early reports had—

"Joker?"

Masking his annoyance at being pulled from his thoughts, Jeff looked over at Kaidan. "Yeah, what's up?"

Kaidan tapped something on the comm terminal and with a swipe of his hand, "threw" it over to Jeff's screen. "I just picked up a vid feed being broadcasted on the secure channel."

"Eh, it's probably the planetary governor expressing his sincere and honest pleasure at hosting the famous Captain Anderson." Jeff scoffed derisively and turned back to start adjusting the ship's bearing. "Forward it to the Captain's inbox and we'll let him know when he's done with the Commander."

"Joker, it's tagged as priority Cerulean."

Jeff froze with his hands a few inches off the haptic interface. In the seven years he had been a Flight Lieutenant, he had never received a transmission designated as priority Cerulean. That was code used to designate an emergent assault on an Alliance-controlled world. Priority Cerulean was never used in drills. As any missive of the sort could contain sensitive information regarding an ongoing combat zone, the designation was also to be considered classified. Honestly, Jeff had learned about it back at the Academy and assumed that he would never actually encounter it in the real world.

Sparing only a second to make sure that Kaidan had read the designation correctly, Jeff flicked on the comms to the CIC briefing room. "Captain Anderson?"

There was a pause, and then Anderson's deep and faintly irritated voice responded. "This isn't a good time, Joker."

"Apologies sir, but we've just received a broadcast. Security level Cerulean."

The captain's response was instantaneous. "Put it through."

"Aye-aye."

Jeff patched the feed into the briefing room's monitors, and then a moment later, looped it back to his own terminal. Kaidan saw what he was doing and looked like he might protest, but curiosity triumphed over the lieutenant's sense of duty, and Kaidan said nothing as the classified message began to play across the flight deck's holoscreen.

A second later, both of them jumped as the sounds of a firefight blasted out of the flight deck's speakers. Shouted orders, muzzle reports, and the grumbling scream of anti-armor ordnance surrounded them as Jeff scrambled for the volume control.

He brought the chaotic mess of noise down to a reasonable level just in time for the picture to kick in. It was coming from a Hardsuit's helmet came, the picture grainy and unsteady as the marine jerked his head around. Jeff couldn't make out much of the background, just a series bright flashes and rumbling explosions that reminded him of a live-fire training exercise he had once observed. The picture continued to shift about for a moment, but then a second marine came into the field of view and jerked the camera operator around so that he could stare directly into the lens. He began to talk into the camera, his voice raised to a near-shout and partially obscured by interference.

"_This is Operations Chief Nichols of the Alliance Military calling on any allied vessel in range! Eden Prime is under assault by geth forces. They are targeting civilian centers and have not responded to any attempts to communicate. Any available Alliance forces, please respond. Our defenses are being—"_

His next words were lost to the bullet that tore through his throat in a spray of fine crimson mist. The camera man jerked in reflexive response to seeing his NCO killed, but before anything else could occur, an ungodly noise chewed its way through the speakers.

Even with the volume turned down, Jeff could tell that it was an impossibly loud sound. The speakers rattled as they tried to replicate the deep, echoing growl that reverberated in Jeff's chest like a physical blow. It sounded like a strange blend of organic and mechanical noises, like a whale song that was being performed by a gigantic blender. His skin prickled with goosebumps, and when the cameraman swiveled to face the source of the noise, his unease grew exponentially.

It hung in the sky over Eden Prime like an ancient god roused from slumber. Jeff's first guess was that it was a spacecraft, but there wasn't a vessel in any known fleet that came close to approaching the size of this thing. Most of its black hull was shrouded from view by the smoke rising from the battlefield, but Jeff could clearly see a cluster of finger-like protrusions that flexed and writhed as though reaching out toward the planet below. Great bands of red energy arced and snapped between the flailing tentacles, and small flashes of light flared up around it as shells from the defensive cannons impacted against its kinetic barriers. An audible gasp rose from the cameraman as he took in the sight, and the picture went completely still as the man froze in place. For two or three long seconds, the massive spacecraft filled the holoscreen, and then there was flash of red light and the video feed abruptly terminated.

At first, neither Jeff nor Kaidan moved as the soft whisper of static played in the wake of the transmission. Then, without saying a word, Kaidan tapped his terminal and rewound the transmission before freezing it on a still frame of the unknown vessel.

"Shit." Jeff muttered, his eyes fixed on the black arms that protruded from its front. "What in the hell is that?"

Kaidan let out a slow breath. "I guess it's a geth warship."

"You ever seen a geth ship? Those things have no aesthetics, they look like big cylinders or squares, not nightmare squids. Besides, do you know how big of a shipyard they would need to build something that size? No way we wouldn't have noticed them doing it."

"Then where did it come from?"

Jeff tried to think up a decent response to that as he stared at the holoscreen. There was something about that ship that spoke to a primitive part of him, some unknown quality that had set a cold feeling in his stomach. Whatever the hell this was, he didn't like it.

The comm channel to the briefing room opened up. "Joker, take us to Eden Prime at full burn. Be ready to enter a combat zone."

The captain sounded even more grim than usual, and mindful of the fact he should not have seen that message, Jeff refrained from asking any questions. "Aye-aye, sir."

He vented the IES system before bringing the _Normandy _into its top speed. That cost them an extra minute, but if they were going to be engaging the flying nightmare squid, he wanted the stealth system to last as long as it possibly could. He had just finished adjusting the acceleration when Commander Shepard suddenly appeared next to him.

"Joker," the lazy quality had vanished from her tone and in its place was hard professionalism. "Give me an ETA."

Jeff jerked in surprise. Wondering how anyone could be so quiet while wearing armored boots, he recovered enough to respond. "Twenty three minutes until we hit Eden Prime's atmo."

"Good. Alenko, inform all three squads that they have fifteen minutes to get kitted up and in the deployment bay. Tell them that they will be entering a combat zone against a hostile force and this is in no way a drill."

Kaidan opened a comm channel and began to relay the orders. Shepard listened to him for a brief moment before her attention snapped back over to Jeff. "Weapons systems. Are they ready?"

"I made sure they were prepped and linked with the kinetic barriers before leaving dock."

"What are we carrying?"

"Other than the GARDIAN array? Just the main cannon."

"No torpedoes?"

"This is a shakedown run, ma'am. No one was expecting us to enter combat. We can take on frigates without any trouble, but I wouldn't be comfortable taking on anything like a cruiser without having disruptors."

Shepard's eyes flicked up to the holoscreen, and with a sickening jolt, Jeff realized that he hadn't bothered to take down the frozen image from the message. He went still, debating whether or not he should try to turn the screen off and pretend that nothing was amiss. It wouldn't work, but maybe he could try to plead some form of sudden-onset stupidity.

"I wouldn't let the captain see that." Shepard murmured softly, her eyes sliding from the screen to rest on his face. Surprisingly, she almost looked like she approved of his borderline treason. "I know we can't engage something that size, but if push comes to shove, could you distract it?"

Jeff flicked off the holoscreen with a powerful sense of relief. "It's pretty hard to get a lock on a ship that doesn't emit heat or electrical signatures. I could probably be a big pain in the ass if nothing else."

"Good, the captain is on the long-range comms requesting assistance. We've got two dreadnaughts in the same system as a Mass Relay, but at best we can hope to see them in about four to five hours. The captain might need you to stall for time."

"Not a problem, commander." A chime sounded as a new order appeared on his terminal's HUD. Squinting at it, Jeff frowned in puzzlement. "Ma'am? I'm getting coordinates for two separate drop points."

"That's correct. Squads one through three will be dropping by the civilian center located here to combat hostile forces." Shepard reached over his shoulder to point at one of the coordinate sets. "The other location is going to be a low-altitude drop by a secondary team pursing an unrelated objective."

"Unrelated objective?"

"Yes, and we're going to leave it at that, Joker." She gave him a flat look that clearly marked the end of that of questioning. Considering that she had just given him a pretty huge pass on that classified distress message, he was more than willing to let it drop. As soon as Kaidan finished distributing orders, she turned back to address him. "Alenko, correct me if I'm wrong, but the two of us are the only marines on board with actual combat experience?"

"Yes, ma'am. Most of these marines are just doing their first flight run. We were intended to meet up with more experienced troops planetside."

"Then you're with me on the low-altitude drop. While you're at it, grab that twitchy recruit who thinks he's the next Drescher."

Kaidan looked confused. "Um, you mean Jenkins, ma'am?"

"It depends, is Jenkins a pasty guy who claims to be certified with Anti-armor ordinance?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Shepard nodded. "Then yeah, grab Jenkins and get outfitted with drop packs. Make sure he's got a tube and as many rockets as he can carry. We're going in blind so we need to be ready for most anything."

Kaidan rose from his chair and stepped past the commander as he moved to follow her orders. Shepard waited until he had left before casting a sidelong glance down at Jeff. Gesturing toward where the holoscreen had been, she lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "A ship that size…should have all sorts of logistical problems in atmosphere, right?"

"Should have. Probably couldn't land safely and it's gotta be murderous for an ME core to be keeping it in the air given its weight." Jeff lifted his eyes to meet hers. "Any idea what that thing is, ma'am?"

"All I know is that it's an enemy." Shepard responded easily. "Beyond that, it's just a big nasty surprise for everyone."

"Weird coincidence that it showed up on our routine diplomatic mission, huh?"

A thin smirk cut across her face. "How 'bout saving the 'I-told-you-so' until after we survive, Joker?"

"Aye-aye, ma'am."

Shepard gave him an odd sort of smile and then stepped out to leave him alone in the flight deck. Shaking his head slightly, Jeff focused on flying the ship.

She wasn't so bad. Weird as hell, but maybe not so bad.

...

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Please leave a review if you have any comments, I always love reading them! I will be updating my profile more regularly with updates regarding upcoming chapters in the hopes of motivating myself to write on a schedule, so hopefully that will give a better idea of when things are coming out.

Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 6: The Beacon

**A/N: **Sorry about the delayed updates. Life is hectic. Might be a few months before things calm down enough that I can start writing on a more consistent schedule.

Chapter 6: The Beacon

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xxXxx

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_Exodus Cluster. Utopia System, Eden Prime._

_2183 CE, September, 13__th_

_GST: 18:03_

_..._

A prevailing silence filled the _Normandy's _deployment bay. It was not born in the tradition sense, that is to say, from an absence of sound, but rather it was a silence that endured and grew steadily more profound through every disruption that rose to confront it.

The cramped bay was packed tight with just over twenty soldiers. They stood in three orderly columns, their collapsed weapons fitted to the back-mounted magnetic clamps on their hardsuits. Shepard could hear them all distinctly: the clacking of composite armor coming together, the impatient sighs that covered anxiety, the muffled scraps of shifting boots, and the audible tension of breaths that were taken too quickly or else held for too long. Some of them tried to lean on camaraderie, offering reassurance and telling stale jokes that were met with dutiful laughter. And beneath all of this was the muffled rumbling of a ship breaching atmosphere.

Still, there was silence. Not in a literal sense, but rather it was a depth of quiet that emanated from the marines standing around her. It was a silence of contemplation, of nervous imaginings, of preoccupation that stood firm in the face of distraction. This was the unique and particular silence that was only found in a group of people who were entirely alone with their respective thoughts.

These marines had never seen combat. Shepard guessed that this was the first time they had really thought about what it would be like to catch a stray round and bleed out on an alien world. She had never given it much thought until Elysium, and even then, it had been a distant concern.

If Shepard was an entirely different person, she might have tried to bolster their confidence like some sort of holovid general. The truth was, she had nothing inspiring to say and it seemed pointless to try. She didn't know these men and she wouldn't be there when they entered combat. Some of them would find cover, most would remember their training and start shooting back, and in all likelihood, at least a few of them would die.

Shepard could not alter their fate with a few words. If it was their time, then it was their time. That was part of the job.

A sharp chime caught her attention, and the signal light overhead flashed yellow in warning. Shepard took a step back from the blast doors, watching as they ground their way open. A sudden explosion of light, noise, and gusting winds poured into the deployment bay as it became exposed to Eden Prime's atmosphere. It was early evening local time, the sky outside painted in mingling shades of red and gold. The visor on her helmet darkened in response to the relatively bright light of the fading sun. She could see a rush of landscape several hundred meters down below, an expanse of green fields and gently rolling hills that was peppered by the occasional burst of human development.

Flicking her wrist, Shepard activated her omnitool and checked their location before opening a general comm channel. "Insertion team, prep for deployment."

"Aye-aye, ma'am." Alenko's rich voice responded immediately. "We've both have a charge. Say the word and we'll jump."

Shepard nodded to herself and spared a moment to check her own jump pack. The device was a small cylinder, just a bit bigger than a thermos, which could attach to any standard magnetic mount. She wore hers strapped to her lower back, and though it wasn't exactly a graceful movement, she managed to reach back and activate the start-up protocol. It took about thirty seconds for the mass effect field to properly build, and a small "charging" icon appeared in her visor's HUD. Marines looking to show off would occasionally make a jump with their packs still charging, but Shepard always made sure everything was ready because she didn't much fancy the idea of plummeting to her death.

"Commander Shepard."

Turning, she looked at the only non-human in the deployment bay. She had to admit that Nihlus cut an impressive figure, his intricate white facepaint spread over his plated features in a series of loops and swirls. He was a haughty sort of turian, and given turians natural inclination toward haughtiness, that was saying something. Letting her eyes trace over the broad planes of his face for a moment, Shepard nodded her acknowledgment. "Spectre?"

"We'll meet at the designated coordinates." He stalked over to stand directly in front of the deployment doors, peering down at her over the lip of his hardsuit's armored cowl. "Move quickly and eliminate any hostiles you and your men encounter."

She cocked a brow. "You aren't jumping with us?"

"I work better alone. You'd only slow me down."

His words didn't insult her, but the tone sure as hell did. Nihlus said it without a hint of derision, a bland announcement that suggested he was just conveying an inalienable truth. Shepard tamped down on the flicker of irritation that sparked in her chest and kept her own tone equally neutral. "As you like."

"I have your comm frequency if the situation changes. We'll secure the objective and then call for immediate transport. Whatever happens here, our mission is to convey the package off-planet."

"Then that's what we'll do."

His sharp, silvery eyes met her own. "Indeed, commander. Good hunting."

With that, he turned and casually leapt out of the spacecraft with no apparent regard for where he might land. Not long after, the jump signal flashed three times and a piercing klaxon wailed throughout the bay. Lifting a hand, she motioned her squad forward and stepped in front of the doors. Her jump pack was fully charged by this point, and the first tingles of anticipation were beginning to seep into her muscles.

The signal array flashed green and Shepard stepped outside.

She dropped quickly, the ground hurtling up toward her at a speed that sent an electric thrill along her spine. No matter how many times she dropped, she would never tire of it. Eden Prime stretched beneath her, adrenaline screamed in her system, and for a few blissful seconds, she had no control over her own fate.

It was over too soon. Ten seconds into the drop, her jump pack registered the increased acceleration and activated on its own. The first mass effect field kicked on and surrounded her in a crackling envelop of dark energy. Her mass was reduced instantly, an odd sensation that made her skin tingle and go numb all at once. The air around her warbled and shimmered as the second and third mass fields came online in direct opposition to one another. The disparity between them produced a sort of friction, slowing her descent by exponential degrees.

She still fell quickly enough that her stomach flipped in an instinctual reaction to what she perceived as an unassisted descent. From two hundred meters up, she had an excellent, if somewhat brief, view of the empty field that would be her landing zone. The jump pack made a loud thrumming noise as its mass fields strained against one another, and without much ceremony, Shepard hit the surface.

The shock of impact slammed up her legs as she touched down and immediately went to one knee, mass fields shattering around her with electric pops of static. Immediately, she reached back, pulled her assault rifle free of the magnetic mounts, and brought the unfolding weapon to bear as she rose from her crouch. She swept the muzzle around the nearby area, clearing the LZ and assuring herself that the location wasn't hostile.

Two loud thumps sounded a few dozen meters off to the right as Alenko and Jenkins landed several seconds apart. She watched with approval as Alenko immediately drew his SMG and followed her example. Jenkins stumbled a bit from the impact, but after a moment, he got the picture and scrambled to produce his own rifle.

Shepard switched to their private comm channel, the rush from the recent drop fading like a pleasant dream. "Form up."

Alenko and Jenkins trotted over dutifully, the tall and slender grass of the field brushing against their knees as they went. It looked as though they had landed in the basin of a shallow valley, and their destination should be northwest from here. Orienting herself with the digital compass that was displayed in the upper corner of her HUD, Shepard turned to face the right direction as her squad drew up behind her.

"Listen, we're here to secure a specific objective that will be found at the local star port. The object is a pentagonal spire of an unknown metal, purportedly glowing. This is to be considered a top-priority mission." She told them what they needed to know and nothing else. On that account, Anderson had been very clear. "Questions?"

Jenkins cleared his throat. "ROE, ma'am?"

"It's a hostile zone occupied by an enemy presence. Be ready to enter combat at any time." She paused, and then as an afterthought, decided to revise what she had said. "That being said, there are a lot of Alliance civilians around here. Check your targets."

"Yes, ma'am."

Alenko didn't seem to have any questions, so Shepard started off at a quick walk, the M-8 assault rifle cradled close to her chest like a favorite child. Nice as it was to be in her armor again, it was even better to have a weapon in her hands and cause to use it. She didn't mind that it would be against geth. Robots fought and died just as well as mercs or the occasional terrorist group.

They covered almost an entire kilck without incident. Eden Prime was truly beautiful, a garden world in the most literal sense of the word. Thick grass flattened underneath their boots as they followed a languid stream that burbled pleasantly as it flowed. Exotic wildflowers splashed the landscape with little dashes of color, and a line of tall conifers loomed up ahead of them like a dark-green wall. It would have been perfect were it not for the distant claps of detonating ordnance. Pretty or not, Eden Prime was still a combat zone.

Two-hundred meters south of the tree-line, she caught sight of the first creature. Her gun's barrel snapped up as she brought the weapon to her shoulder, but her finger stilled on the trigger when she realized that the thing in her sights was definitely not a geth.

It was hovering about thirty meters to her right, having been previously concealed by a small outcropping of rock. Her first impression was that someone had found an under-sized manatee and somehow gifted it with the capacity to fly. Greyish-brown and ugly as sin, the thing was drifting an arm's length above the tall grass. Two long tentacles sprouted from near its mouth, idly dragging beneath it like slender anchors as it went.

She hesitated for a moment, wondering if there was any way this thing could be a threat. Apparently guessing at her line of thinking, Jenkins piped up from behind her. "Just a Floatta, ma'am."

Shepard looked back at him. "What?"

"Floatta, ma'am. People around here raise them. They taste pretty good, but there isn't much meat on them." Jenkins shrugged and waved a hand at the "Floatta", which was currently using one of its tentacles to shove a wad of grass into its lipless mouth. "Most of it is just gas bladders, so it's pretty harmless unless it catches fire."

Shepard lowered her rifle, trading a bemused glance with Alenko. If she were being frank, Jenkins didn't strike her as the type to be a wealth of information about anything. "Private, why do you know that?"

"Eden Prime is my home world, ma'am. I grew up about two hundred klicks east of here. It's a nice place to be sure, but I got tired of the small towns and moved on once I could enlist."

He smiled after delivering this riveting life story. Shepard frowned in return, taking in his blocky, cheerful face and experiencing an irrational flicker of contempt. She couldn't quite say what triggered the reaction, but it was an effort for her to keep it disguised. "Anything pertinent you can tell us about the area?"

"Not really, ma'am. I never got around these parts."

Of course not, that would have been helpful. Shepard checked their bearings once again and wondered why Joker hadn't just dropped them directly on the shipping docks. Anderson had hypothesized that there would be a considerable hostile presence around here, but other than the gas manatee, this area was placid.

Alenko cleared his throat. "Ma'am, what if we tried broadcasting to nearby forces? We might be able to form up and get a better view of what's going on."

"Negative." She lifted her hand and motioned them to keep moving. "It was made clear to me that we're treating this as a covert assignment. While I'd agree with you in ordinary circumstances, I won't risk giving away our—"

A crackle of muzzle reports cut her off in midsentence. It rose from beyond the tree-line, a flat series of snapping pops that stood out distinctly from the deep, rhythmic thumps of the AA defenses.

Small arms fire. It looked as though there was a hostile presence after all.

Shepard started forward without hesitation. Breaking into a careful trot, she called back to her squad over her shoulder. "Close in and check it out, engage any targets."

There was a pounding of boots as the two of them hurried to follow, but Shepard barely noticed. A very familiar excitement was building in her chest like the first whispers of a furtive promise. It had been too long since the last time, and she was already smiling at the thought of scratching this particular itch.

They reached the trees quickly, the thick trunks forcing them to alter their course as they navigated through the dense maze. Ahead of them, the sharp reports of gunfire grew louder and closer together. There was more than one shooter, all using automatic weapons that didn't possess the characteristic sound of the Alliance M-8. These were softer in quality, meaning a more consistent rate of fire at the expense of less magnetic acceleration behind each shot.

After only a hundred meters, the trees opened up abruptly to reveal a shallow canyon. The walls were unnaturally smooth, perfectly flat planes that had clear levels where measures of rock had been cut out and removed. The floor of the canyon was unadorned save for a handful of large, rectangular blocks of stone and a single cargo hauler that looked like it was used to transport them. Roughly fifty meters ahead, the quarry sloped to the right and around a corner that prevented them from seeing anything further.

Just as Shepard stepped out from the cover of the trees, a female marine in a red and white hardsuit rounded the corner at a dead sprint, five geth platforms at her heels.

Composed of purplish-blue synthetic skin, the geth loped into view on reverse-jointed legs, their optic lamps glowing like a handful of searchlights as they opened up with their weapons. Plumes of dust and rock fragments exploded near the marine's feet even as she dove over the nearest block of stone in a mad grasp for cover.

Shepard didn't wait to see if Alenko and Jenkins had kept pace. Bringing up her own rifle, she squeezed several bursts at the approaching synthetics while moving to cover the distance between herself and the pinned marine. With an eerie degree of precision, the geth unanimously switched their fire to the new threat, and Shepard was forced to slide into cover right next to the marine as MR rounds impacted on her kinetic barriers.

The woman jerked in surprise as Shepard slammed against the stone. Grabbing her shoulder, Shepard caught a brief glimpse of wide brown eyes as she barked out an order. "We've got two men in the trees. Wait for suppressing fire and then go for that cover to the right. Flank 'em and catch the fuckers in crossfire."

To her credit, the marine got over her surprise and nodded in confirmation. Shepard scrambled to get her feet underneath her, bracing herself against the stone block with one hand. Already, she could hear the deep voice of an M-8 as Jenkins fired his weapon. She might have waited a moment longer before breaking cover, but then there was an odd whir of servos and a geth warrior platform vaulted the block of stone to land between her and the marine.

The geth was practically standing over her, so Shepard didn't even try to bring her rifle up. Her biotics flared, a tingle shot through her nervous system, and then the warp field went active. Divergent layers of dark energy swirled over the surface of her left gauntlet, rending the air at a molecular level as they shifted and pulled apart. Shepard lunged upwards, driving a biotically-enhanced punch through the geth's shields and into its chest cavity. A sharp squealing noise filled the air as layers of metal parted like loosely-woven silk, and then, when her fist was roughly where its heart should be, Shepard let the warp detonate.

A mess of unstable mass fields and dark matter erupted from the geth's chest in an explosive burst. The synthetic body burst apart into three ragged pieces and a spray of white fluid that smelled of gun oil and garlic.

Shepard smiled as her shields flickered from the peppering of shrapnel that accompanied the geth's demise. Moments like these made everything else worth it.

A burst of MR rounds pinged off her shields and brought her back into the moment. Turning to the left, she dashed toward the relative safety of the cargo loader, stumbling as a hail of fire hammered into her barriers. She took one shot too many just as she reached the heavy vehicle, and with a clap of displaced air, her shields distorted and shattered entirely.

In the same instant, something slammed into her ribs with the force of a sledgehammer. Her breath left her lungs in a harsh rush as she spun with the force of the blow. Momentum carried her behind the cargo loader and out of the line of fire to send her crashing gracelessly against the vehicle's side.

Her helmet's visor flashed red in response to the failure of her kinetic barriers, it would be a good twenty seconds before the system reset and brought them back online. Shepard quickly checked her aching side and was pleased to see the armor of her hardsuit dented but unbroken. The failing shields must have absorbed a good portion of the projectile's force before it could hit her.

She gave herself a few heartbeats to catch her breath before readjusting her grip on her rifle and leaning out from behind the side of the loader.

One geth was lying sprawled out in the center of the quarry, its torso riddle with gunshots. She couldn't see Alenko or Jenkins, but the female marine looked to have broken cover at the same time as Shepard and she was doing a respectable job of suppressing two warrior platforms that had taken up position behind another stone block.

Though her shields were still down, Shepard wasn't in the business of avoiding risk. She kept most of her body behind the loader, and when a geth platform popped its conical head out of cover, she took it off with a short burst from her M-8.

Three geth were down and the other two were up shit creek without a paddle. Taking fire from three separate angles and trapped behind their choice of cover, the warrior platforms would have probably been contemplating surrender if they possessed a survival instinct.

She was trying to decide the best way to flush them out from behind the block when Alenko stepped up and did it for her. A fountain of dark blue particles erupted from behind the geth's position, and the two synthetics were suddenly yanked several meters into the air as gravity suddenly lost its grip on their bodies. They floated lazily, limbs outstretched and paralyzed, helpless to so much as move as they bobbed along on the currents of a slight breeze.

Shepard spared a second to admire Alenko's control before putting a dozen rounds through one of the helpless robots. The unknown marine mopped up the other, and then Alenko let both of the destroyed platforms drop in a chorus of satisfying thuds.

She stepped out from behind the loader and shivered in pleasure. It had been a nice little skirmish, enough to get her blood moving and set off a pleasant rush of hyperawareness in her mind. Her ribs were aching something fierce, but the pain was nice, almost like being sore after a workout.

"Commander."

Alenko hailed her from across the quarry, his voice grim and loud in the silence that had fallen in the wake of the firefight. She turned, expecting him to be approaching her, but then she saw him crouched above a figure in a blue and white hardsuit.

Shepard walked over, taking in the pool of dark blood that was spreading around Jenkin's motionless form. Alenko looked at her as she approached, shaking his head to confirm what was largely apparent. "It's no good, ma'am, he was gone before I even got to him."

She stared down at Jenkins. His face was pale from blood loss and locked in an expression of such profound surprise that it was comical in a ghastly sort of way. "What happened?"

"He just broke cover at the wrong time. I tried to get him to stay put, but it happened quick."

Shepard nodded. "Drop a marker. We'll have the _Normandy_ collect him once this all over."

"Ma'am."

As she watched him prepped one of the GPS beacons, Shepard felt a pang of self-disgust. She wouldn't try to deceive herself and pretend that she had cared much about Jenkins as a person, but he had been part of her squad and that demanded a certain responsibility. In a sense, his death was her failure. Jenkins was green and she should have known better than to expect him to act autonomously. It could be that if she hadn't been so eager to get into the fight, he might not have caught a bullet.

Then again, it could just be his time.

Shepard mentally shrugged. Turning around, she found herself face-to-face with the marine they had rescued.

Unlike herself and Alenko, the marine wasn't wearing a helmet. She was attractive, her skin the warm color of a walnut's shell and the soft angles of her face complemented by large, brown eyes. Her black hair was pulled back into a regulation bun, a severe contrast that was matched by the flat, almost aggressive expression on her face. If Shepard were to make a guess based entirely off her first impression, she'd say that this was the sort of woman who hadn't worn a dress in years and probably wouldn't in the foreseeable future.

This was the sort of marine that Shepard liked to work with: tough, stubborn, and as she had already seen, capable enough in a fight.

Lifting her chin, the marine snapped a tight salute. "Gunnery-Sergeant Ashley Williams, ma'am."

Shepard briefly wondered how the other woman had known she was an officer. N7 armor bore no rank insignia. It could have been the biotics, and if so, then she could add perceptive to William's other qualities. Lifting her hand, she briefly returned the salute. "Commander Shepard. Where's your squad, Williams?"

The sergeant blinked at Shepard's name but answered promptly. "They're dead, ma'am."

"Not you, though." Shepard stared down at the smaller woman. "Should I assume you're the lucky one?"

"I was following the last order given to me, ma'am." A hint of challenge crept into William's tone and the muscles along her jaw tightened. "We were patrolling when the attack hit. Lieutenant Lincoln ordered us to get a distress beacon set up, but we were engaged by geth forces before we got the chance. The LT ordered us to fall back, and I've been fighting for my life ever since."

Shepard absorbed this and decided it sounded right. Williams was meeting her gaze with a sort of bullish intensity that made it hard for Shepard to picture her as a coward. Nodding slowly, she decided that this could work to her advantage. "Do you know where the shipping yards are?"

"Aye, ma'am, they're nearby." She gestured to the northwest with one hand. "A little less than a kilck that way by foot."

"Good, then you're with me now, Williams." Shepard turned to indicate Alenko, who had finished marking Jenkins's corpse and was now walking toward them. "Lieutenant Alenko, this is Sergeant Williams. She's going to take us to the yards."

Williams took a step forward. "Ma'am, there's nothing over at the yards, just a few cargo crates and docked vessels. Most of the civilian habs are over to the east. That's where everyone is going to be this time of day."

"Our objective is the shipping port."

"But—"

"There are other marines who will be securing the civilian population. Our orders have us performing a separate function." Shepard barreled past the sergeant's objection before it could get underway. "Time is a factor, Williams."

The sergeant visibly bit back another protest and saluted. "Ma'am."

Williams led them back in the direction she had come. The quarry was narrow and it grew deeper as they moved into it. Shepard glanced up at the high rock walls apprehensively. This would be an absolutely murderous ambush point, and there wouldn't be much they could do if geth forces started firing down at them.

Thankfully, however, it looked like the geth had already came and went. The quarry was empty aside from abandoned mining equipment, but there were a concerning number of blood stains on the stone walls and floor.

No bodies, though. A lot of blood, but not a single body.

The quarry soon emptied out onto a cleared path that led up and around a small hill. Shepard let Williams take point, choosing instead to bring up the rear behind Alenko. It was strange that that they hadn't heard from Nihlus yet. The turian Spectre should be closing on the shipping port given that they weren't slowing him down and everything.

They had just rounded the hill's bend when Sergeant Williams let out a sharp exclamation and slowed to a halt. Pushing her way past Alenko, Shepard came up behind her and peered over the shorter woman's shoulder.

A small collection of civilian habs lay in a clearing beneath them. There were three of them, and based on the radio tower and weather spires that stood close by, she imagined it was some form of science outpost. Many of the newly colonized worlds were still being studied, so it wasn't all that uncommon to find the occasional research lab being tended to by recent Academy grads looking to discover the next EEZO or something to the effect.

However, Shepard's attention wasn't on the habs or the science equipment, it was the on the collection of impaled bodies that had been erected in the center of the three buildings.

Shepard counted seven corpses, men and women both, each impaled through the chest by huge spikes of metal that had to be at least seven meters in height. Large tripods stood at the base of each spike, their three legs stocky and designed with the streamlined curves that typified geth technology.

Behind her, Alenko heaved a sigh. "Okay, that's disconcerting."

"Certainly is," Shepard agreed without taking her eyes off of the bodies. This seemed to explain the absent corpses back in the quarry. "Not really sure what to make of it."

Williams glanced up at her. "Terror tactics?"

"Maybe, but from what I've read, geth don't go for 'outside-the-box' thinking all that often. They're more direct when it comes to killing us."

"Then why? I mean, if it isn't to freak us out, then what is this supposed to be?"

Shepard shrugged. "Art?"

That earned her a look from both soldiers and Shepard decided it was one of those things that she probably shouldn't have said. Hefting her M-8, she started down toward the camp. "C'mon, might as well try to find a survivor. It may be that they can tell us what's going on."

They proceeded cautiously, a natural reaction to seeing nearby impalement, and as they drew close to the first hab, Shepard used a hand signal to direct Alenko and Williams to cover her approach. The door to the hab was wide open, so she poked her head around the corner long enough to see that the one-room accommodation appeared to be empty. She did see an active terminal in the corner of the room, however, and that caught her interest.

Ducking back outside, she got Alenko's attention. "Take Williams and clear the other habs. Watch each other's backs and I'll join you in a moment."

He nodded and motioned for Williams to follow him. Shepard left them to it as she stepped inside the hab, swiftly checking the corners of the room before walking over the active terminal. Though the urgency of her mission was not far from her mind, she had a spare minute to look for something that might explain just what the hell was going on.

There were a few programs running on the terminal: a private message client, a few digital notes, two separate reports on some form of chemical analysis, and a minimized hub that revealed itself to be a link to a popular pornography site. She scanned the PM client quickly and found nothing save for personal correspondence. The chemical reports were dense and related to something called 'phosphoric erosion' so she ignored them, and as a courtesy to whichever poor bastard had used the terminal last, she deleted the porn window.

None of that helped her, and just as she was starting to think this was a bust, the date on one of the digital notes caught her eye. It had been recorded only two days prior and even though she wasn't expecting much, Shepard called it up and listened as a man's voice began to play. `

"_They finally finished the excavation today. I personally think that taking an entire week to go about it was excessive, but try telling that to Evan. He was worried that we'd somehow manage to damage the artifact in the process of removing it. Damage? Whatever that thing is made out of, it's harder than parasteel. We couldn't even collect a sample using a focused laser and Evan was worried about accidentally dropping it! Still, I can see why he's so protective. This artifact is going to make our careers. We might not know what it is, but the Protheans sealed it within two separate preservation chambers so it has to be important, right? Weird thing is that it has been giving off energy readings lately. We worried about radioactivity but our counters say that it's as cold as dirt. So, I guess we have to figure out how electrical readings are being emitted by a hunk of stone that's been buried for millennia. After that, I figure we should focus on why those readings have been steadily increasing ever since—_

"Commander!" Sergeant Williams's shout came from outside the hab. "Commander, you need to get out here!"

Shepard pushed away from the terminal, the message still running as she hurried for the door. Stepping out into evening air, she found Alenko and Williams standing just beyond the hab. "What is it?"

Wordlessly, Alenko pointed up toward the nearest tripod. Craning her head back, Shepard peered upwards and immediately understood.

One of the impaled men was moving.

Shepard first thought was that he somehow alive in defiance of all reason, but these were not the motions of a living man. His limbs shook with violent tremors, curling and flexing as though electrical currents were racing through his system. Of much immediate interest however, was the small matter of his shrinking. It was rapid, violent even; his entire body growing thin and skeletal as though he were being sucked into himself.

She stared up at the grotesque transformation with idle disgust. "What was that word you used, Lieutenant? Disconcerting?"

"Yeah, standing by it, ma'am."

The impaled man went into one final round of convulsions and then went perfectly still. A harsh whine of mechanical motion filled the clearing, and then the spike of metal suddenly shot to earth, telescoping into itself as it folded down into the tripod. The man's corpse went from dangling a half-dozen meters above the ground to lying atop the spire's mount like the remnants of a ritual sacrifice.

Williams made a quiet sound of revulsion. "God above, what happened to him?"

The corpse resembled a mummy. Its greyish skin wrapped tight around its skeleton, the musculature exposed and resembling some type of metal rather than any recognizable form of flesh. An odd web of tubes and what looked to be circuits were spread across the entirety of the body, erupting from the skin at places to mimic the appearance of vasculature. From these thick and corrugated tubes came erratic pulses of electric-blue light that raced and streamed along in like beads of water moving across a slick surface.

Then, he moaned.

Three automatic weapons snapped up at the same time, trained on the mutilated thing that was stirring like a bothered dreamer. Slowly, it leaned up, bending forward at the waist as it hoisted itself off the tripod and rose unsteadily to its feet. Issuing a rattling gasp from deep in its chest, it took two stumbling steps and raised its head.

A pair of blue fires burned in its vacant eye sockets, dominating the horrifying visage of its skull-like face. It stared at them, the clawed fingers on both hands flexing as its lower jaw unhinged and a sound like tearing metal issued from within its throat.

"_**Rrrryyyyyaaaccccckkkkk!"**_

"Huh," Shepard pursed her lips as the horrible noise died off. "Well, let's just nip this right in the bud."

Her finger tightened on the trigger and she put a burst through its chest. Her rounds took it right in center mass, a nice, tight grouping that carried a respectable chunk of its midsection out through the exit wounds.

The skeleton thing lurched from the force of impact, but otherwise did not provide an appropriate response to having its torso perforated. Instead, it seemed to take this as an open invitation to sprint headlong at them.

Alenko and Williams didn't need the order the fire. Both of them opened up the moment the abomination took a step in their direction and Shepard was happy to join them. A veritable storm of MR round tore into the thing, far more than should be enough to kill, and yet it still got a good five meters before Alenko shot its knees out and caused it to crumple. Williams stepped forward to put a burst through its skull, and then finally, it went still.

Shepard slapped the heat release on her M-8 and let the sinks vent. "Who's got det?"

"I've got a kilo of ven-tac." Alenko twisted his body to start searching the storage compartment on his right hip. "Only one detonator though."

"Should be enough. Place it near as many of those tripod things as you can and put it on a one minute delay. We're moving on."

Williams walked past the two of them and nudged the metal skeleton's corpse with the toe of her boot. "Since when can the geth do this to people?"

"Since now, evidentially." Shepard watched Alenko prepped the explosives and silently wondered if the entire universe was going to shit in the span of a day. The gigantic warship was bad enough, and now there were cybernetic zombies that seemed to thrive on being shot. Whatever this artifact was, she really hoped it was worth all the bother.

Alenko straightened up quickly. "Charge is set, time to move."

The three of them double-timed it out of the clearing, Williams once again leading them toward their objective. Alenko's ven-tac detonated soon after, the heavy crash of the explosion fading slowly as it echoed between the surrounding hills. Shepard paused and turned back to check the extent of the damage. All six of the remaining tripods had crumpled, either knocked over or outright destroyed by the plastic explosives.

"Commander?" Alenko had come behind her. "Everything alright?"

She turned away from the fallen tripods. "I'm fine, lieutenant. Let's move while we've still got daylight."

…

xxXxx

…

"So, this right here?" Shepard muttered as she stared down at Nihlus's corpse. "This here is the thing that's finally going to put me in a bad mood."

Sergeant Williams came up beside her, cautiously scanning the nearby cargo crates with her weapon. "Do you mean the glowing thing, or the dead turian, ma'am?"

Shepard stopped studying the entry wound in the back of Nihlus's skull long enough to spare a glance for the Prothean artifact that lay within a dozen meters of his body. Of course, "lay" was a relative term, as the pentagonal shaft of metal was floating in apparent defiance of gravity. At least as tall as she was, the artifact appeared smooth except for the spindly lines of greenish light that ran along its surface in orderly patterns. Shepard didn't much like the look of it, a feeling that was only reinforced by the small bolts of electrical discharge that occasionally arced between it and nearby bits of metal. "The dead turian, Williams."

"Who is he?"

"A Spectre. He was traveling with us."

"Yeeash. That's going to piss off the Council."

_You have no idea. _Shepard grimaced as she considered how this would reflect on her own Spectre candidacy. Granted, she had no idea what the criteria for recruitment actually was, but she had a strong suspicion that having her evaluator wind up dead would not count in her favor. "No, I suspect they won't." She suppressed a sigh and turned her attention to Alenko. "Lieutenant?"

He looked up from where he was kneeling over the Spectre's body, ostensibly checking for life signs in spite of how much brain matter was the ground. "Ma'am?"

"While I'm certain Nihlus would have appreciated the effort, I reckon he's all manner of dead. Leave him be and get Joker on comms. Tell him we secured our objective and require evac."

"Right away, Commander. Should I mention that Nihlus has—"

Alenko was interrupted by a hollow crash that sounded like someone had dropped an empty barrel. Shepard tensed, her eyes darting around their surroundings as she tried to find the source of the noise.

Sergeant Williams found it first. Lifting her rifle, the sergeant turned her body to face a large stack of storage canisters. "Movement!'

Shepard trained her own weapon on the same area, trusting Williams's judgment even though she had seen no movement. A moment later, a thin film of biotic energy descended on all three of them as Alenko brought up a barrier around them.

Taking a step toward the offending barrels, Shepard raised her voice so that it carried. "Fair warning to whoever is back there, I'm about three seconds away from shooting at you."

"Jesus, hold on!" A man's voice, shrill with urgency, immediately rose up in response. "I'm unarmed, no need for that!"

Shepard smiled faintly. As a general rule, nothing got results quite like the threat of an incipient shooting. "Alliance Military. Step out into the open and keep your hands visible."

Slowly, as if expecting to be shot at any moment, a young and thoroughly disheveled man began to inch his way out from his hiding place with both hands stretched far above his head. He was dressed as a dockworker, his ill-fitted jumpsuit covered in unsavory stains and tucked into work boots that had to weigh ten pounds each. Though he initially flinched at the sight of their weapons, his fleshy face broke out into a hopeful grin after it became obvious that they weren't going to gun him down. "You're with the Alliance?"

"That we are. Question is: who are you?"

"I'm Tom."

"Well, Tom, I need you to get down on your knees and cross your ankles. Keep your hands up and move slowly if you please." Shepard spoke without ever taking her sights off the man's chest. "Williams, check him."

Tom complied with an exaggerated degree of caution. Sergeant Williams moved forward once he had assumed the position, circling around him warily before moving in to pat him down for anything nasty. Stepping back after she was satisfied, Williams nodded at Shepard. "He's clean."

Shepard lowered her rifle and approached the two of them. "Let's talk about what you were doing behind those barrels, Tom."

"Uh, hiding?" He gave her a look that clearly suggested she was stupid for asking. "Maybe you missed all of the killer robots running around?"

"Oh, I noticed them. But I figure the evac order must have gone out a few hours back and star ports are always the first to be cleared. I'm mostly curious as to what you're still doing here and how that might relate to the dead turian over yonder."

"What, you think I killed him?" Tom's eyes widened and he shook his head in emphatic denial. "No, no, no, that was the other turian."

Shepard blinked. "Other turian?"

"That's what I said."

"_What _other turian?"

"I dunno, big bastard with a bunch of glowing shit in his face. Seemed like the two of them knew each other."

Shepard narrowed her eyes. This was a new and unpleasant development. "Tell me precisely what you saw."

"Can I stand up first?"

"No."

"Alright, fine then." He grumbled. "I was just back behind the barrels when—"

"Doing what?"

Tom frowned at her. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"Yeah?" Shepard stared back at him for a long moment, her fingers drumming meaningfully against the oblong casing of her rifle. "Are you sure you want that to be your answer?"

His eyes darted between her and the weapon. "I…I was securing something that belongs to me. A private shipment, nothing the Alliance needs to get involved in."

Shepard rolled her eyes. She didn't care about some backwaters smuggling ring. If it didn't pertain to her mission, he could secure all the red sand or exotic pets he wanted. "Go on."

"Right, so I was behind the barrels when I hear these footsteps come up the main stairs, and I'm thinking it's those geth things, you know?" He lowered one hand long enough to point over at Nihlus. "Except, it ain't, it's that guy."

"And the other turian was with him?"

"Nah, the second one showed up a little after the first. They talked a bit, and then when the small one turned around, his friend shot him in the back of the head."

Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose as she warded off a fresh surge of frustration. Either there was a lot more going on here than she realized, or Tom was spewing a heap of horseshit for the hell of it. "Anything stand out about this big turian?"

"Hard to say, they all kinda look alike to me." Tom shrugged mightily. "The glowing face-jewelry was the biggest thing. It looked like he had all these little blue lights and wires jammed under his skin."

Alenko looked at Shepard. "Sounds like those skeleton things back at the settlement."

"Which is unlikely to be a coincidence." Shepard murmured she pulled her hand away from her face. "Did the turians say anything that stood out to you?"

"I think the dead one called the other one…Saran? Seran? Something like that. I couldn't follow much of what else they said, but it was all about that rock that the science nerds dug up."

"And then this Saran just left?"

"No, that's the weird part." Tom said this as though the entire story had been the picture of normalcy up until this point. "He kills the other turian and then a whole group of geth walk up and he starts giving them orders like he's their commander or something. They drop this crate off, poke around that rock for a bit, and then they just leave without taking anything."

"Crate?" Shepard gave Tom her full attention. "What crate?"

He pointed over to a rectangular box that was about the size of a pair of footlockers placed end-on-end. It lay a dozen meters to their left, unassuming and barely worthy of mention in an area full of shipping containers. "That one over there. They set it down just before leaving."

Shepard snapped her fingers in the crate's direction. "Alenko."

"On it, ma'am."

She didn't bother watching as her lieutenant trotted over towards the offending crate. Instead, she kept herself focused on the dockworker who had suddenly become a great deal more interesting. Stepping close, she knelt down to bring them at eye level. "What orders did this turian give? Why didn't he take the artifact?"

"Hey, I don't know." The man lowered his hands and held them as though warding her off. "They just killed somebody! I was busy hiding and praying that I wasn't next."

"What about his friends? You see anyone other than geth with him?"

"Nah, just him and the robots."

Shepard frowned as she straightened up. None of this was making sense. The geth weren't allied with anyone. They had their little corner of the galaxy, and for the last several decades, were seemingly content to stay there and kill whatever breached those boundaries. She couldn't even begin to guess as what changed, but then again, figuring that out was not her mission.

"Uh, Commander?" Alenko called out in a tone that was heavy with foreboding. He stood next to the crate the geth had left behind with his omnitool active and presumably scanning the contents. "This is a bomb. A really big bomb."

Of course, it was.

For a moment, everyone just stared silently at Alenko, and then Tom broke the tension with a distressed squawk. "A…bomb?! Holy shit, we gotta get out of here!"

"Shut it." Shepard treated him to a brief, disgusted look before starting toward Alenko. "Williams, watch the civvie and make sure he doesn't scurry off. We need him."

Leaving the two of them behind, she moved to join Alenko in front the bomb. Glancing down at the nondescript box for a moment, she murmured to him out of the corner of her mouth. "Please tell me it's not a nuclear device."

"No idea, ma'am. The scan just picked up the detonator." He blew out a breath and turned to her. "I'm afraid I'm not going to be much help here. I don't have an experience with anything larger than a grenade."

"Fair enough, let's take a look." Shepard knelt down to examine the crate more closely. The geth had made no effort to disguise the device's purpose. Even without an omnitool scan, Shepard would have recognized it as a bomb based solely on the generic carrying case that the turian military favored for their demo work. Deciding to chance the possibility of a booby-trap, she activated the fastening clasp and held her breath while the top panel of the crate swung open with a hydraulic hiss.

Nothing exploded or shot a spray of acid into her face, so that was one piece of good news. Unfortunately, the rest of it was bad. The open panel revealed a simple detonation interface composed of a few flashing symbols and an input pad covered with turian numbers. There were no visible wires and the detonator had been welded into the metal casing to prevent it from being removed. Shepard would admit to being somewhat rusty when it came to turian explosives, but she knew enough to recognize this wasn't their standard high-explosive design. Frowning to herself, Shepard activated her omnitool and pulled up the scanning application. She adjusted the parameters to suit her best guess, and swept the holographic tool over the device.

Her omnitool pinged as the results came through and confirmed her suspicions. High-concentrations of magnesium and organic compounds were present beneath the bomb's casing.

"It isn't nuclear, it's thermobaric." She switched her omnitool over to a translation module and held it up to the device's display screen. "The design is turian, but I've disabled something similar before."

Alenko visibly relaxed. "You can disarm it, ma'am?"

"More than like." Shepard glanced down at her omnitool and clucked her tongue as she took in the translated version of the device's display. "Whoa, now that's going to be a problem."

Alenko took one look at her omnitool and inhaled sharply. The flashing symbols on the interface had revealed themselves to be a countdown.

A countdown that put them at just shy of two minutes until detonation.

"Okay," Alenko subtly edged backwards from the bomb. "Maybe we can just grab the artifact and try to clear the area."

"Maybe, except the artifact is an alien rock that's currently glowing." Shepard jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "If you feel like grabbing hold of it and risking whatever carcinogenic death ray it pumps into your bone marrow, be my guest."

The lieutenant gave her an exasperated look. "Then what should we do, ma'am?"

"Hold this." Shepard passed him her rifle and moved around to the right side of the device. Flicking her left hand with a sharp twist of her wrist, she activated another one of her omnitool's features.

The micro-manufacturer made a flat, sizzling crack as it flash-built a silicon-carbide blade. A half-meter long and tapered to a narrow point, the translucent blade was light and harder than enhanced steel. Being mindful to keep the glowing-hot weapon away from her body, Shepard brought it up to the side of device and began to cut into the casing. It was surprisingly easy to do, the fabricated blade cut cleanly with only a faint amount of resistance.

Alenko watched her as she half-sliced, half-melted a neat square of metal free from the side of the bomb. "Have you diffused a lot of turian bombs?"

"Not as many you're probably hoping, but try not to worry, lieutenant. Turians are pretty uniform in their designs and it's a bit like riding a bike." Shepard popped the square of metal loose to create a small window into the bomb's inner circuitry. Orienting herself around the large reserve of combustible fuel that would vaporize them if this went south, Shepard followed a promising-looking bundle of wires to a large circuit board that most likely controlled the detonation. Staring at it for a moment, she had an unpleasant realization. "Uh-oh."

"Ma'am?"

"You see that big node in the center there?" Shepard leaned back and directed his attention to the object in question. "It's the one that's blinking and all?"

"I see it."

"A thing like that is going to be the locus for all the signals coming to and from the detonator. If we destroy it, then everything is well and good."

"Then why did you say 'uh-oh'?"

"Well, you see that other node over there?" Shepard pointed to another part of the circuit board with her finger. "The one that looks identical and all?"

"Yeah, I see…oh."

"Yep."

"So, you don't know which—"

"Nope."

"And if we destroy the wrong one?"

"Hard to say, but I suspect there would be an explosion."

"Okay," Alenko straightened up slowly, his hands twitching in the beginnings of a nervous motion. "Is there some way we can figure out which one to choose?"

"You could try doing an extranet search for 'turian-weapon-designs', but I wouldn't hold my breath."

The lieutenant flushed, his persistent composure fracturing as irritation crept into his tone. "Then what are we going to do, Commander? Start running?"

"Hmm…we could." Shepard glanced between the two nodes, trying to remember the last turian device she had looked at without much success. They just weren't as commonplace as batarian and Alliance models. "Although, I gotta ask, what do you think of our chances of clearing the blast zone?"

"Very bad and getting worse by the second, ma'am."

Shepard nodded thoughtfully. "I'm inclined to agree."

Lifting her hand, she leveled the searing omniblade and jabbed it into the first node.

The locus fizzled and died in a short puff of smoke. A sharp, thrilling siren arose from deep within the bomb's casing, and for a second that stretched well beyond its boundaries, Shepard was absolutely certain that she had just killed them all.

Then, the lights and glowing circuits on the board all dimmed before dying entirely. Cautiously lifting her head, Shepard craned her head to check the bomb's display and experienced a moment of silent relief when she took in the alien, but thankfully frozen, symbols of the countdown.

Letting out a breath that she didn't remember holding, Shepard glanced back at Alenko. "I've got good news."

"You are insane." He dragged a hand across his face and let out a shaky laugh. He seemed to rethink his words after a moment, and with a slight wince, tried to repair the damage. "…ma'am."

Shepard smirked and stood up. Clapping him roughly on the shoulder, she shrugged off the tacit apology. "Stick around, lieutenant, it'll only get worse."

Alenko stared at her for a moment and then smiled. It was good smile, more confident than cocky, and there was an inherent warmth there that Shepard liked. She returned it easily, pleased to know there was more to Alenko than competence and some impressive biotic control. A person could have all manner of nice qualities, but in Shepard's experience, it didn't count for much if they didn't have a good sense of humor at their disposal.

She pushed aside the flicker of interest. There was a time and place for everything, and they still had a mission. "Get that call out to can drop a beacon if he needs it, but I figure the Alliance's best pilot can—"

Her order was abruptly interrupted by a flash of green light and a sound like a revving engine. Both of them whirled to face the source of the disturbance, only to be greeted by the latest in a series of unpleasant developments.

Sergeant Williams was floating.

She hung a few dozen centimeters above the metal floor of the star port, arms limp and hanging at her sides. A narrow ribbon of green light shot from the center of her chest, bridging the several meters that separated her from the alien artifact. Outlining her motionless body, an aura of charged particles hung suspended like a green shroud, and as they watched, it steadily drew her closer and closer toward the artifact.

Shepard didn't pause to give the situation thought. Acting mostly on instinct, she leapt forward and rushed headlong for the sergeant. Ducking a shoulder at the last moment, she caught Williams by the hip in a tackle that would have made a Thrashbacker proud.

It worked, in a sense. The momentum from her charge was more than enough to knock Williams free of whatever force was holding her. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to keep Shepard from being snagged in her place.

Shepard snarled as she felt herself being yanked up in the air. Her initial reaction was to struggle, but it felt like she had been seized by thousands of steel cables that were all pulling her in different directions. She couldn't so much as twitch as she was slowly dragged toward the glowing artifact.

Her next idea was to summon her biotics, fully intending to increase her mass until she could break free, but the dark energy didn't come when she called. Instead, Shepard could feel it slip away and out of her grasp.

The artifact began to pulse in a steady rhythm. Little motes of green light appeared around it before coalescing toward Shepard like objects dropping into a gravity well. She bucked against her invisible restraints, trying to rear backwards even as the conical formation of light began to narrow and stretch out as though reaching for her. Distantly, she could hear Alenko shouting something over the panicked squealing of the civilian. She wanted to call out an order, demand that he pull her free with his biotics, but her jaw was locked stiff and she couldn't turn her head to even look at him.

Shepard gritted her teeth as the questing energy finally reached her. It fluttered against the skin of her forehead with a gentle tug of static, and then in the span of a second, her vision went black and the world abruptly vanished.

She didn't have time to feel fear.

…

xxXxx

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